Harry Potter and the Mind
by Overdog
Summary: What really happens when an abused teen reaches his breaking point? People get killed in this story, and real-life teenagers cuss. This is an A/U fic, and deviates from canon. HP/HG/LL, though later.
1. Chapter 1  Welcome Home

Harry Potter and The Mind

What really happens when an abused teen reaches his breaking point?

Rated R for language and violence. People get killed in this story, and real-life teenagers cuss (or curse, for our british friends).

This is an A/U fic, and deviates from canon whenever the spirit moves me. Let's be honest; since the last book is out, at this point no matter what fanfic gets written it's going to be somewhat A/U. Right?

The names of non-canon characters that I made up follow the tradition of british music halls, the golden age of british radio, and indeed british culture itself. Think the names I made up are too off-beat? Take a leisurely look through a London phone directory some time. If JKR can have a "Xenophilius Lovegood"... well, you get the picture.

"No sane man will dance."  
>- Marcus Tullius Cicero<p>

Chapter 1 - Welcome Home

He lay in the darkness, bleeding. The cold, hard floorboards were a cool comfort to his face, but not to any other part of him. Harry Potter was not having a fun summer holiday. _How long have I been back?_ he wondered. _Fifteen minutes? Good to see some things never change._

Trying not to move - or even to breathe too deeply - he took a mental inventory of what was left of the Boy-Who-Lived. Broken nose, from Vernon Dursley's broad-fisted punch. Check. One, two... at least two broken ribs, from Vernon's kick after he was down. Check. Broken right knee, from being stomped on. Check. Broken little finger of left hand... _I don't remember breaking that,_ he thought. _Probably fell on it on the way down, or something._

He grimaced ruefully, thinking that it was a fitting close to an absolutely rotten fifth year at school. Come to think of it, an absolutely rotten last few years. Sirius dead... Cedric dead... Weasleys attacked left and right... Ron, Hermione and just about everybody else alienated. _What exactly is it I'm supposed to fight for, again?_

His thoughts wandered, as they had many times when over the years. Harry had learned that he could make his life a little more easier to bear if he just thought about something else. Not the normal daydreaming and woolgathering that all children do as part of growing up, but something more. In sixteen years plus, Harry had gotten very good at just 'not thinking about it'.

Harry had no way of knowing, but this disassociation was a defense mechanism; an ability common in heavily-abused people. Some people just overload on the stress and their mind shuts down, leaving them blubbering and gibbering wrecks of insanity; while others, like Harry, just let their panic mechanism handle the gibbering and crying - and let their reasoning consciousness disconnect.

Torture experts like the ones the KGB and Stasi had trained knew how to recognize the signs of the approaching crux point, and keep things just below the level that allowed a mental escape in either direction. Vernon and Dudley Dursley, on the other hand, were not expert torture technicians (or indeed expert at anything at all); they just liked to beat people up. Little people who couldn't fight back. People like Harry Potter.

He still felt the physical pain, just as intensely as one would expect. But it didn't matter as much. He knew that nobody was coming. He knew that he was probably going to die right here on the floor, locked in his room in a growing puddle of his own blood. And he was having a great deal of difficulty bringing himself to give a damn.

Not a little detached, he reviewed the day in his mind. _Hmm... Everybody threatening Vernon at the train station. The strangely quiet trip home. Vernon's smile, looking as crazy as a football bat, instead of the usual purple threats. Getting all my stuff out of the car, bringing it in, closing the door and... getting punched in the face. On the floor, getting kicked, and stomped, and... Oh yeah!_

Harry remembered - remembered what Vernon had been so happy about. They were moving. Getting a little jump on Harry's birthday. "We're leaving, freak!" he'd said. "The house is sold, so take your filthy muck out into the street! Good bye, good riddance, and" - crunch - "TAKE THIS WITH YOU!"

_That's right,_ thought Harry. _That's when my knee was broken._

The house was mostly empty already. No wonder lard-ass was happy. He had sold the house, already moved everything, and was just waiting to say his extra-special, heart-felt goodbye to the one person in the world he hated the most.

Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Barely lived. And not for long. He couldn't even call for help. He couldn't breathe deep enough to whisper, let alone call out, without his ribs grinding. His nose streamed blood onto the floor.

Harry heard a sudden clatter at the window. Hedwig! The window was closed and locked, and there was no way on Merlin's green earth that he was going to be able to open it. _At least she didn't get hurt._ Hedwig, his beloved snowy owl, his familiar, and his most constant friend... had just arrived from her flight home. And now she couldn't get in.

He couldn't even see out the window. But he knew it was her. Looking around the room a little, he noticed that his leg was laying at an unnatural angle. He tried to move it a little, tried to scream... and that was his last conscious thought for the day.

/\

When he awoke, he was rather surprised to be able to see, until he realized his glasses were still on his face, unbroken. _Glad I learned that charm, at least._ From the position of the light, it looked to be about mid-morning. After passing out from the pain, he had slept through the evening, the night, and half the next morning.

_Time for another inventory_, he assigned to himself. Then Hedwig walked into his field of view. She was standing on the floor, about an arm's reach away from his head, just watching him. When she saw that he was awake, she walked closer and gently nudged his forehead with her beak.

"Sorry, girl. You're very sweet, but I can't get up right now." Hedwig cooed and hooted softly, using that warm, throaty warbling that only birds can do. "You understand me, don't you, Hedwig? Always have, I think."

The pain in his injuries was stronger, but not as sharp. Harry was quite used to the cycle, having been hurt enough times - both at home and at school - to know. His breathing still hurt like blazes. His left hand was swollen from the untreated broken finger. His right leg had swollen to tightly fill his trouser leg. _Probably cutting off the circulation,_ he thought. _If I tried to take care of it I'd have to cut my pants off._ He almost chuckled a little at that, moaning immediately when his ribs put a stop to his laughter.

_Nothing to do but wait, now. I'm going to die right here. With an Order guard, probably standing right in the front yard, who has no idea that I need help._ "I sure wish I had some water," he said in a hoarse whisper.

/\

The hot June day took forever to pass. Harry kept fading in and out of consciousness. Not passing out entirely, he kept drifting into that near-sleep state that comes just before sleep. That time when your mind starts telling you silly, brilliant things that you never remember when you wake up.

Anyone able to watch would have claimed he was delirious; fading in and out of contact with the world, mumbling to himself. They would have been dead wrong. Harry's defense mechanism came naturally to him now. While his body lay broken and bleeding, his mind got on with business of its own. He was used to it. He had lain on that floor and other floors, broken and bleeding, many times before. Beaten, mangled, tortured, for the absolutely unforgivable sin of being Harry Potter. It couldn't be a crime, could it? It wasn't against the law. Just, apparently, against the code of the idiots in his world.

He chuckled again, lightly. _It's a sin for me to breathe._ Then he began to notice some things in his room. First, he saw that the day was gone and the cool of the evening was upon him. It was nice to be cool again, given his tremendous thirst. The next thing that he noticed, however, was the smell. During the last twenty-four hours, when he'd had very little control over his body, his bladder had voided.

Looking around a bit, he sighed - lightly, trying not to disturb his ribs. His blood was dried and crusted around him on the floor now. _I'm almost empty,_ he thought. _All my drain plugs are open. Blood, tears, sweat, urine. What a stinky mess we humans are on the inside._ He was beginning to contemplate topping off the display with some ear wax, or maybe snot, when he noticed something. Something new to his experience. Something he'd never heard of as being possible.

He could see his own magical aura.

In the pale, fading evening light of his room, Harry Potter could see the nimbus of magic around his body. _Was that there before?_ he thought. _Or, is my magic leaking out of me too?_ He tried to think back to a time when he had seen a magical aura around anyone; but there was only one person.

Dumbledore.

Just thinking the name made him angry. All the lies, betrayals, manipulation, blatantly using him. _Liar!_ his mind shouted. With the surge of his anger came a surge of incredible pain in his leg, chest, head and hand. He nearly passed out again, but somehow managed to hold on to consciousness. _Better watch that,_ he thought. Intuitively, he knew that anger took him out of his mind's ability to remain apart.

He marvelled for a moment on that thought. What a terrible talent to have to develop! The ability to separate from one's own pain, just to stay sane. And only one, terrifying way to learn it.

Harry knew that a wizard's constitution was stronger than that of a muggle; just like their ability to heal, or the fact that wizards lived longer. But nobody had ever been able to satisfactorily explain to him why that was so. He considered this, looking down at his aura again. Laying on his left side, his good leg under the bad one, he saw a difference. _A different color? No, not color... Flavor?_ He grunted, impatient with his own inability to describe it in words. He decided to use "flavor", even thought he knew it was wrong.

He could _taste_ that something was different in the aura over the places where he was hurting. Pulling his hand close, he could see the damage manifest itself in the magic around his broken finger. Harry stared at his injured hand, somehow knowing that he was on the verge of a discovery. If he could only look close enough, to feel, to get a handle on this whole aura thing. He found that, when he tried to move the broken finger, the aura seemed to... well, to _throb._ When he stopped, the throbbing slowed.

He gave no thought to the ridiculous situation he was in. Lost in the experience, his mind still detached from his pain, he concentrated on making the throbbing slow down.

_There,_ he thought, just before falling asleep again, exhausted. _That feels better._ His hand, at least, didn't hurt as much as it had. As he dozed off, he smiled a little at his newfound ability to manage his pain.

He didn't know it yet, but he had partially healed his hand.


	2. Chapter 2  You can't

Disclaimer: You know better than to even suspect that I might own any of the Potterverse.

A/N: This novel is finished. I'm just posting a little every day.

Chapter 2 - You can't keep a good dog down

The morning of Harry's third day back at Privet Drive, he sat with his back against the wall, where he had managed to drag himself. Objectively, he was feeling quite numb, and was able to move. He knew this wasn't a good sign at all, but didn't much mind. A sly grin came over his face, and he called out, "Dobby!"

A nice, polite "pop" later, and the world's only known free house elf was standing before him. "Yes, Master Har... Master Harry Potter, sir!" exclaimed Dobby, as soon as his large round eyes took in the shambles that was the room, and the shambles that was Harry. "You is hurt, Master Harry Potter, sir! Oh, Dobby will get Madame P-"

"Dobby!" Harry had to interject quite forcefully to get the elf to stop nattering and pay attention. "Listen to me, this is important. This is something we must discuss before we do anything else. Are you listening?"

Dobby clearly wasn't happy about it, but he nodded so forcefully and repeatedly that Harry worried about the state of the elf's neck.

"Dobby, would you like to come and work for me full time, to be my elf? For pay?"

"Master Harry Potter sir wants Dobby to be his... to..." the poor creature stuttered, as if hardly believing his fortune. "Dobby is to be house elf to the great and powerful wizard Master Harry Potter? Truly?"

For once, Harry had no trouble at all hiding his grin, because he simply didn't have one. He hurt too much, and there was too much to do. "Yes, Dobby," he said. "Right now, you are the only one I trust to do what is good for me, and not for themselves. I know I can trust you, and I like you. Will you work for me, or not?"

"Dobby is most proud elf in the whole world! Wait until the other elves find out-"

"Wait!" snapped Harry. Dobby stopped dead in his tracks, fearful that he had done something wrong. "If you work for me, then you will have to keep my secrets. Can you do that?"

"Oh, Master Harry Potter sir, Dobby is most excellent at keeping secrets." The little elf stood straight and proud. "Dobby is a good elf!"

"Good. We'll work out your wages in a little bit. But first, here's what I want you to do..."

/\

Twenty minutes later, Harry was lying in a clean, warm bed in a small bed and breakfast in Dunny On The Wold - a little wizarding farm town over a hundred miles southwest from Little Whinging - while being clucked over by a very old Healer with the unbelievable name of Dorsey Goosecreature. His belongings had been brought in, Hedwig had found a perch, and he had finally drunk his fill of fresh water. All arranged by Dobby, whom Harry had to admit was taking his duties seriously as a first-rate elf.

He watched with interest as the healer traced his injuries with his wand. Especially since the glow at the tip of that wand precisely matched the part of Harry's aura it was tracing.

"Mr. Potter," began the healer. "I'm afraid all I can really do here is first aid. For full treatment, we're going to have to get you to a-"

"No," Harry interrupted.

"But you don't underst-"

"I don't care," stated Harry flatly. "I have had my fill of the so-called 'care' those people have given me for the last five years, Mr. Goosecreature. The injuries you are seeing right now are the direct result of that 'care'."

"I can fix your ribs right as rain, me lad; but that knee needs a specialist."

Very calmly, Harry told him, "Then whatever you can't fix will stay broken until I find a specialist I can trust. Mr. Goosecreature, you are a skilled and experienced healer, and you know what you're doing." The healer grinned a little at that. "You will just have to accept that I am the number one expert on the way the world shits on Harry Potter."

The calm matter-of-fact way that he spoke carried much more bitterness to the older man than any teenage histrionics ever would. Tapping his front teeth with the end of his wand, he gave in. "Very well, who is going to stay here and take care of you?"

"Dobby will care for Master Harry Potter sir!" answered Harry's new companion, before he could offer any suggestion himself.

Healer Goosecreature set out a few potions, left a list of some more to get, and gave Harry and Dobby written instructions on what was to be taken when. As he was about to go, Harry said, "Remember, sir; no one is to know I am here, and don't forget to bill me."

"Very well, young man," said the personable old man. "Something tells me I'm going to be hearing much more about you this year than we have before. Could you at least try to make it good news?"

With a wry grin, Harry said, "I shall certainly try my best. Good day to you, sir."

"And a better day to you, Mr. Potter."

After Goosecreature was gone, Harry finally began to be able to relax a little. "Dobby, there are some things I need you to do for me."

"Yes, Master Harry Potter sir!"

"First, I would really be happy if you could find something shorter to call me. We have been friends for some time now. Do you think you could just say 'Harry' instead of all the rest of that?"

"Yes, Master Harry Pot... yes, Master Harry is a kind and great wizard to call Dobby 'friend'."

"Hmm. Master Harry? Okay, good enough for now. Now, I want you to get me some parchment and ink so I can..." That was as far as Harry got before Dobby popped out, and popped right back in carrying the requested items. He took the proffered supplies and wrote a note to the goblins.

_My dear Goblin friends,_

_Please be kind enough to allow my house elf, Dobby, access to my vault. He will show you my key. I will be asking him to do my banking for a while, as I find myself unable to attend to it personally._

_Please list my address for any correspondence as:_

_General Delivery  
>Box 27<br>Dunny On The Wold  
>Hampshire<em>

_Yours in good business,_

_Harry Potter_

Just to be sure it could be identified, he put a little of his blood below his name. "Dobby, I want you to go to my vault in Gringott's. Can you do that for me?"

"If Master Harry will give me his key, Dobby will do it."

"Alright, Dobby, but please listen until I am finished. Give this note to the most senior goblin you can find, and then bring me five hundred galleons from my vault and come right back. Okay?" The elf nodded. "Okay, you may go."

Harry hoped that the short note he had written would be enough to get Dobby in. He was really in no shape to get to Diagon Alley on his own, to straighten out any paperwork. He was dozing off when Dobby popped back into the room, setting a sack of galleons on top of Harry's trunk.

"Did you have any trouble, Dobby?"

"No trouble, Master Harry. Goblin Ragnok say get well soon, and come visit sometimes. Goblin Ragnok was most senior goblin Dobby could find."

Harry laughed, having forgotten how literally Dobby would take things. "Went straight to the head of the bank, eh? Well done, Dobby. I think I'd better sleep now."

And he did.

/\/\

After two wonderful days of lying on his back, unable and - frankly - unwilling to move for anything more exciting than the loo, Harry was struck by an idea. A real eye-opener. For the first time, his life was his own.

For every waking moment he could remember, and a great many of the sleeping moments as well, there had been someone with an expectation for him - from him. Demanding his time, his efforts, his attention, his participation, even his money. This was the first time in his life he could think of that his life belonged to him. Just him. Not the Dursleys, not Dumbledore, not Voldemort, not even the Weasleys.

He liked that feeling very much.

For two days now, he'd had a chance to consider his place in the world, and his plight. He realized that his ability to detach himself, to stand apart from his own misfortune and injuries, was probably the only thing that kept him alive. Having spent quite a bit of time in the Hogwarts Infirmary, Harry knew exactly how important it was to keep patients calm and relaxed; preferably asleep, if possible. Madame Pomfrey had explained that it gave one's magic a much better chance to work at healing, which is why wizards healed and recovered so much faster than muggles.

Harry had spent much of his childhood in just such a state. _Just do it and keep your head down,_ he would say to himself, slogging through the interminable chores and abuses. _Worrying isn't going to change it. Think about something else._ But he had just thought about something else; not actually thought about thinking about something else.

He had seldom spent much time in analytical thinking. That sudden realization was embarrassing to him, and he was very glad he was thinking this through on his own instead of being lectured by someone else. _I've just been woolgathering, and dealing with things as they come,_ he thought. He didn't like that stark realization very much at all.

The troll, the sorcerer's stone, Sirius' escape on Buckbeak, the Tournament... _those things just happened to me, and I had no time to figure out a way to deal with them._ He was rather pleased with his ability to deal - quite spectacularly, in some cases - but he had to admit it to himself: he was just some kid to whom things kept happening.

He was turning sixteen years old in a few days. Although he knew that the wizarding world didn't consider one "of age" until seventeen, he also realized that turning seventeen didn't make one an adult.

"Dobby," he called quietly.

"I'm here, Master Harry," he heard. There was no tell-tale pop, which meant that the elf had already been in the room.

"Do you have time to have a chat with me?" he asked, looking at the huge round dark eyes.

"Master Harry is a great and powerful wizard! Tell Dobby, and Dobby will do it!"

Harry thought carefully about his next words. "That's not what I meant, Dobby. You're my friend, right?"

Dobby's reply came in an emotion-choked whisper. "Dobby will always be most loyal friend to Master Harry Potter."

"Good," Harry answered. It was a start, anyway. "And friends trust each other, right?" The elf nodded vigorously. "And trust each other with secrets and advice, right?" The nod came slower this time, as if reluctant.

"Well Dobby, I would like to have a chat with you, as my friend. I will tell you some things, and I will ask you some things, and you will tell me some things. Hopefully, we'll both gain something from it. I know I will. Are you willing?"

"Dobby will try."

"Okay, have a seat. Up here, please," he said as he pointed to the bed, stopping Dobby from sitting on the floor.

"Something is troubling me, my friend, and I want to know what you think. What do you think it means to be an adult?"

Dobby's round eyes opened to look even more round. "Wizards and witches comes of age when they is seventeen years old." He nodded, very solemn, as if to say that was all there was to it.

"That's not what I meant. You have been around families with children, so I'm sure you have heard at least one of them told to 'grow up'." Dobby nodded. "Now nobody who says that really thinks it will make someone taller. So what do you think it really means?"

"Dobby thinks they want that someone to act like a 'grown-up'," said Dobby. "To... to stop acting like small child."

"Excellent answer, Dobby," said Harry, causing Dobby to smile and look down. He wondered if elves blushed, and how one could tell. "That's exactly correct, as far as it goes. Now I need you to help me to understand something. We agree that 'grow up' means to act more like a 'grown-up'." Dobby was still nodding. "So, what does that mean? How, exactly, do grown-ups act? Precisely what kind of behavior is acting 'grown up'?"

That was the stumper. The great, steaming, grand bull-moose question of the day.

Harry had spent fifteen of his sixteen years exposed to the Dursleys, and he'd never seen anyone in that family act like he thought an adult should act.

For the last five years, he'd been at a school where the four-hundred-plus population carried on as if there were no such thing as society. From cowering and hiding, to banding together in gangs of bullies, to snooty elitism... it seemed as if everyone there had developed some reason for looking down on at least one other person. Harry was pretty sure that wasn't adult behavior.

The staff at the school like Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall... well, overlooking their obvious personality differences, they all seemed more interested in ordering people about and their silly punishment system than in actually being any kind of role model. Harry was one hundred percent sure that wasn't adult behavior.

As the evening wore on, Dobby and Harry continued to talk about this, trying to work out how to be grown-up. Without any examples worth looking for, without any experts, without any input of any kind other than their own moral character and ability to think. When dinner time came, Dobby prepared food while they talked. Afterwards, Harry put a magical fire in the fireplace, and the two friends continued.

It never occurred to Harry that starting the magical fire without his wand was anything out of the ordinary. And it never occurred to Dobby to question it; to him, Harry was the greatest wizard in the world.


	3. Chapter 3  A spoonful of sugar

Chapter 3 - A spoonful of sugar

The next morning, Healer Goosecreature announced that Harry could leave the bed. Of course, along with that permission came a whole slew of instructions for care, prescribed potions, admonitions to them both to 'take things easy', and one final point. "Mr. Potter," the old healer said. "Please, as a favor for an old man, please get that leg looked at by a specialist when you can. It will be usable, and it will get stronger, but you will always limp very badly until it is rebuilt." He sniffed, wiping his nose loudly on his sleeve. "I wish I were a better healer, I really do, I feel terrible about letting you go with a disability-"

"Healer Goosecreature-" began Harry.

"Call me Goose, everybody does."

"Very well, Goose; and you must call me Harry," he replied, causing the healer to look up sharply. "You and Dobby saved my life, without a doubt. I don't think I would have lasted another night on that floor since, as you pointed out, my lungs were filling with blood. I'm a difficult guy in many ways, but I'm not stupid. There are many things going on in my life right now. Horrible things. So please believe me when I say that every decision is being weighed very carefully. There is no way I can allow the government to take control of my life again. And the moment I stepped into a major hospital like St. Mungo's, I would be under Fudge's thumb, and probably for the rest of my miserable, short life."

Harry put his hand on Goose's shoulder, looking him in the eye. "I know your healer oaths are safe, so I won't insult you by asking you to keep it a secret. But my house elf will _not_ allow you to leave before we have settled your bill. You have left us with a lot of expensive potions. At least let me cover your expenses?"

Shortly thereafter, Dorsey Goosecreature aka Goose left the hotel room. He was carrying much more money than he thought he was worth, and much less than Harry had wanted to give him.

Still standing in the middle of the room, Harry looked around, thinking. "Dobby?"

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"I think I need a place of my own. I obviously don't live with the Dursleys anymore, and I don't feel like rattling around in a giant empty castle all summer. What do you normally do all summer?"

"Dobby sometimes is told to helps out at the Black house," said the elf, looking down. He didn't say anything, but Harry could tell very easily that Dobby didn't like being there.

"Well," Harry said gently, "There's no way on Earth I'm going to spend a summer in that hoary old dump - especially with a traitorous elf, Kreature, and that idiotic painting. I mean, really! What kind of a person would it take to sit for hours painting a careful, lovingly-crafted magical portrait of an insane old harridan?" He was grinning, though Dobby was not.

"Okay then, mate." Dobby perked up at that. "One thing we definitely need to work out is how to stay free. As I see it, the only way that's going to happen is if nobody knows where we are. Something like the _Fidelius_ would be good. Any ideas?"

Dobby was thoughtful for a moment, then perked up and said, "Goblins! Goblins make some of the best wards, Master Harry Potter sir." He forgot, in his excitement, the new shortened form of address agreed upon.

"Parchment and ink, Dobby," Harry said, getting caught up in the excitement. "Hedwig, are you up for a trip to London?" The snowy owl jumped from her perch and half-flapped over to the table; obviously just as ready to get started.

Harry zipped off a quick note to the goblins.

_Dear Ragnok,_

_I am in need of an escape, of sorts._

_Dobby has reminded me that goblins are widely-known for their high-security wards, and I know that Gringott's handles sale of wizarding real estate. Could you give me the name of someone with whom to speak at the bank, who would be knowledgeable in these matters?_

_Please let me know when it would be convenient to meet with your designee._

_Yours in good business,_

_Harry Potter_

Caressing Hedwig's head, he opened the window to let her out into the morning air. "There, that should get things going. Dobby, I'm going to find someplace to live where there are no Dursleys, no Dumbledore, no teachers, and I'm going to spend some time finding out about this wizarding world of ours. What do you think?"

"Dobby thinks Master Harry looks happy, Master Harry."

"That's because I just figured it out, you know? I just... figured it out. What I have to do. And you helped me, Dobby." _Maybe I just needed a non-judgmental sounding board. Or an insane hero-worshipper._ "I'm going to get my own place. I'm going to take charge of my life. You're going to have a whole house to take care of, and we're going to get to live life _right_, for a change."

/\

At 2 minutes before 10am, as requested by Ragnok, Harry stood in the lobby at Gringott's, looking around from beneath the hood of his cloak. It was too warm in June for a cloak, but he didn't know how to cast glamour charms on himself. Yet. So he wore a cloak, and cast the much-simpler cooling charm on himself. He got a few strange looks for being dressed so mysteriously, but he didn't see anybody recognize him.

He stood with the aid of a staff; a knobbly stick with a knob at chin level. Dobby had found it for him and dried and polished it. Not only did it make a strong support for his bad limp, but he thought it looked very 'wizardly'. _It's just a stick of wood, but nobody else needs to know that, do they?_ With his features covered, his staff, and his painful gait, anybody seeing him would think he was at least triple his real age - which was precisely the effect he sought.

He played up his limp for a little more effect, walked up to the high head-teller desk, saying, "Good sir, I have an appointment with Ragnok at 10. Could you kindly direct me?"

He was taken by a goblin who was not introduced into a very well-appointed office, to wait. The wait wasn't very long; at precisely 10 o'clock, the oldest goblin Harry had ever seen stepped into the room.

"Mr. Potter."

"Mr. Ragnok?"

"Just Ragnok, young man. That is my full name."

"Then, please call me Harry, sir."

"Mr. Po- Harry, before we begin, I have a question for you." Harry nodded. "Why are you so polite to goblins?"

Harry was taken aback. "But... how else would one deal with other beings? Since I was asking for help, shouldn't I ask politely?"

Harry heard a rumble, like gravel dropped onto a bass drum. Looking around in alarm, the noise got louder until he realized that Ragnok was laughing. Before he could take offense, Ragnok said, "Well met, young human! Well met indeed. A great many members of your so-called 'high society' would do well to learn that. Now, to more weighty business.

"I heard about your godfather's passing, and we at Gringott's would like to express condolences for your loss."

"Thank you," said Harry quietly, not looking away. _I bet very few people get condolences from the head goblin,_ thought Harry, _but I am not going to sit here simpering and stammering like a little kid._

"Harry, do you have legal counsel?"

"No, that was one of the things I was going to ask your help in finding."

"Hmph," grunted the goblin. "I don't normally... no, that won't work. Since you are not yet of age, it would really be in your best interests to get yourself some legal counsel before we continue."

"I imagine that would be a good idea, but I wouldn't know where to start," said Harry. _Does the wizarding world have a Yellow Pages?_ "I should like very much to get a better handle on what is going on in my life. If you think a lawyer is a good place to start, it's just..."

"Yes, young Harry?"

"Well, I can't really think of a delicate way to put this, so I'll just say it. Whoever I have for my legal advice cannot be actively connected with the Ministry, Dumbledore, or the Order of the Phoenix."

Ragnok looked a little relieved at that, as if he had been hoping the same thing. "I assure you that won't be a problem, Harry. No matter who your solicitor is, they are required by law to keep your business private, and can lose their license to practice law if they are found to divulge your secrets."

"Heh," half-laughed Harry before he could stop himself. "Perhaps, but you and I know how 'secrets' have a way of finding their way into the ears of those people. This is critical for me, sir."

"Very well. It would not be fitting for me to just provide you with one - a man cannot effectively serve two masters, you know - but I can call a very good one. Let's see if he's available, shall we?" Ragnok touched a maroon stone on his sash, and the door immediately opened. A short exchange in gobbledygook, and the other goblin was on his way.

/\

Over two hours later, Harry was still in the conference room at the bank, but he was having the time of his life. Under the careful guidance of of Cyril Thynne, of the soliciting firm of Rumpo, Lipharvest and Thynne, Harry had a tidy little stack of parchments in front of him.

Dobby refilled their cool drinks as Thynne said, "Right, then; let's recap. You are, as of fifteen minutes ago, an emancipated male under old wizarding law. Since you are the only surviving Potter, the law states that there can never be a time when there is no head of a noble family, until such time as the family dies out completely. Right. As the only surviving heir to the Potter line, you are automatically the head of the family in the eyes of the law, and therefore automatically an adult in the eyes of the law. Right. Rather like the old feudal days, when infant princes would become king in Europe. With me so far?"

Harry nodded readily, sipping at his glass of juice. "Right," he couldn't help adding.

"Right, er... yes, well. There is no need to notify anyone except the bank, as it's nobody else's business unless you want it to be. Your signature on this document was recorded in Gringott's vaults, and the bank has now been officially notified. You are now Lord Harry Potter, and you would have been a baron - but the peerage laws were changed to make it so the title 'baron' is no longer inherited.

"The Potter lands are varied in type, and most are smallish, having less than an acre. You do own a farm near Suffolk, a... this can't be right... a gas mantle factory near London... let me check that." Thynne shuffled through several stacks of parchment, before going on. "You may wish to have someone check that for you. It appears to be correct - on paper, at least.

"The rest of your lands and properties are on this list. Please have your financial adviser go through them with you. Do you have any questions so far?"

"No, please go on," said Harry.

"Right," Thynne continued, not noticing Harry's grin at his habit. "With the passing of Sirius Black, normally the title and family leadership would pass to older members of the family. But Lord Black was quite specific in the wording of his will, and had his solicitors spend quite a bit of time to make it air-tight. The will of the deceased always trumps tradition, except where it violates the law - which, in this case, it does not.

"That means that you are now Lord Black as well. Not only does that come with automatic adulthood, as your parents' will does, but Mr. Black specifically stated in his will that you were to be emancipated upon his death. He didn't give a reason, and the law didn't require him to give one. This is not the first time someone has inherited two house names, so there is precedent under law. You may consider yourself Lord Potter, or Black, or Potter-Black, or Black-Potter, or any combination you choose. None of it matters; only when doing official family business, you must use the official name of that family. Right?"

"Right," Harry said. _I bet the paperwork is a mess, but the gist of it is really quite simple to grasp, _he thought.

"Be sure and have a solicitor at hand on those family law occasions where both Potter and Black are to be present, such as meetings of the Wizengamot; the Potter and Black estates and families could potentially have legal complaints against each other, and you'll need someone to protect you from yourself." Thynne grinned wryly at this, taking pleasure in his own little joke before continuing. "This has a list of all Black lands and properties that belong to you now. Finally, this is a synopsis of your cash holdings in the Potter and Black vaults."

Harry held in his hands the highlights-only lists of things to be considered. "Mr. Thynne," he began, "I know I just came into a red-hot pile of valuable commodities. Right now, I know just about enough to get my own quills and robes for school, with a little left over for Hedwig. I am grateful that both families thought so much of me." He paused for a moment, thinking of his parents and Sirius. "I don't need much to get on with my life, but I _do_ know that somebody is going to try to take advantage of my inexperience. I need financial protection, and some advice on how not to lose it all."

"Mr. Potter, normally your solicitor would be worried about conflicts of interest, probate restrictions, and torts, and would hesitate to suggest it. But my firm also handles that sort of business. If you would like, I can get my firm started on an in-depth financial analysis of your holdings. Is it your intent to continue to use our firm for your legal advice?"

"For now, yes. You have been very helpful."

"I'm glad, Mr. Potter. And may I say that you have been a lot more attentive than I expected when I came in?"

"Thank you, sir," replied Harry.

"Good. Just in case, here is a copy of our fee structure," said Thynne, handing over a heavy-bond embossed sheet. Before Harry could mention it, he continued, "I know, I know... it's all a bit of a mish-mash to you at the moment. If you are amenable, we'll just get started on some preliminary digging, and we'll keep in touch with you and go from there."

The two stood, shaking hands, and Dobby gave Mr. Thynne a parchment with Harry's owl delivery address on it.

/\

Back at his rented room, Harry spent the next few days finding out just how much there was to find out. He put the house-hunting on hold long enough to go through the list of the houses and lands he already owned - and he was certainly glad he'd waited! _Sirius, you old hound!_

"Dobby! I'll need my cloak-and-staff disguise. Feel like going along on a trip today?"

In very short order, Harry was popped to Gringott's by Dobby, met by Thynne, whooshed through the floo network to the Post Office in Hogsmeade - all without being recognized. Harry stood with Dobby and Cyril Thynne on a hill on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Just ahead of them was the mouth of the cave where Sirius had hidden from the ministry before moving to Grimmauld Place.

Rather than becoming dejected at the thought of his dead godfather, he rejoiced in learning of a great prank! Oh, now Sirius must have danced with glee to pull this one over. _You trickster, you fooled us all... good on ya'._ Smiling, Harry walked into the cave, and stood at the designated spot. Pricking his finger, he smeared a drop of blood on the low back wall, saying, "I am Lord Harry Black."

That's all it took. _Trust Sirius to keep things simple, _he thought, as the back wall shimmered to reveal a door. Harry looked calmly at Thynne, who said nothing and gestured that he should continue. When Harry grasped the doorknob and turned, the door moved outward instead of in as one might expect. It didn't take long for him to figure out that it was for defense. _Much harder to break in that way._

Entering the property first, he stood in a tidy vestibule. On his right was a coat rack, to his left a mirror. The floor was black and white checkerboard. He heard his companions step up behind him. "Mr. Potter," began the lawyer, reading from his paperwork. "There are 5 rooms beyond this entry: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, sitting room, and library. Right. The kitchen larder and library are charmed to be as big or small as they need to be." He flipped the page over a couple times, looking confused. "Right. This document says that there is another exit, but its location is not given."

Walking through the efficient little place, Harry was struck by how it was set up for comfort. There were windows that were charmed to show views of the outdoors, as if this were a regular house. It was five minutes walk from Hogsmeade, and any supply he was likely to need. It felt... calm. _I could do with a little calm,_ he thought.

Thynne informed him that he wouldn't have to speak every time he came, and that he could see the door any time now. There was no need for a key, as the door remained a stone barrier unless he was touching the knob.

"Very well, Mr. Thynne. I can check out some of my other properties some other time. This one will do nicely for the moment. Do you need anything from me before I make arrangements to move in? Nothing for me to sign? No? Then thank you, sir, for all your help." Harry gestured to the door, and Thynne and Dobby preceded him out.

Thynne apparated out after shaking hands. _On to more important things, no doubt,_ thought Harry. _I need to remember to find out how much all this service is costing me._ "Dobby, take us back to the hotel room, please," he spoke. "We have things to do."

Back at the hotel, it didn't take much time at all to pack, pay his bill, transfer his anonymous owl service box to the Hogsmeade Post Office, and be back in his new home. Joyful yet subdued, he gave instructions to his house elf, getting on with the business of living his own life.


	4. Chapter 4  Home is where the bathtub is

A/N: Thank you for your reviews, and thank you for reading.

/\

Chapter 4 - Home is where the bathtub is

Life was turning out to be quite nice under the hill for Harry and his elf. The goblins had warded his house so well that, when he let Hedwig out for hunting, she couldn't find her way back in. She was rather put out about that, but Harry was happy to go out into the cave entrance to get her when his ward gong announced her arrival.

The permanent charms had been inspected by the Gringott's team, and had only required minor tweaking. The quality of the spell-work was already top-notch, and had obviously cost a fair number of galleons. There were ventilation charms, replacing the fresh air. Climate control charms, a whole battalion of enchanted kitchen gadgets, and even the Wizarding Wireless.

Since Harry had spent most of his life so far either being ignored or being told to shut up, he was quite used to keeping his own company. He was content to wait to see what, if any, the wizarding world's reaction to his disappearance was. He slept a lot, and took his potions, and healed as much as he could.

Eventually, he got bored and went to browse the library. Not nearly as large as the one at Grimmauld, it was still certainly plenty to keep him involved. Standing in the middle of the library, he viewed the groaning bookshelves. _Why are wizarding books all the same color? Why does every book I ever had to buy look like an old muggle family bible?_ Then one book caught his eye.

One book. Standing out from all the others. Rather than clad in decaying old leather, it was white - so white, it may have been bleached. His interest piqued at seeing the one non-conformist tome, he walked to pick it up. Embossed on the front cover was _The Strength of The Mind, by Wisteria Plotz_.

_Wisteria Plotz? Another tradition that's going to have to change,_ thought Harry. Why was the wizarding world so insistent on saddling their poor children with these wacky names? Being a kid and trying to grow up is hard enough without putting a thousand-year-old yoke of meaninglessness around their neck just because they happened to be descended from some minor bureaucrat in the time of Merlin - which was a damn silly name in and of itself. Why can't their kids just be John and Jane Green and get on with their lives? Who do wizards really think they're impressing with names like Lucius Malfoy? Why not Isolde Flapdoodle or Ruprecht Fudgeknuckle? _Honestly. Name your kid Pansy, or Millicent, or Draco? It's almost enough to drive anyone to be dark._

He took the white book, somewhat amused, and made his way back to the bedroom to get ready for his bath. "Dobby?"

"Yes, Master Harry."

"Are we going to be happy here? Do you have everything you need? How are we fixed for food?"

"Dobby is finished unpacking, and nearly finished with the cleaning. This is Master Harry's house now, so Master Harry will have to tell me what kind of food and meals to make."

"Okay, Dobby, that sounds fair enough. Tell me, you spent all those years working for other families, and I don't even know the simplest things about you. What kind of food do you like to eat?"

"Elves is happy eating the same food as wizards, Master Harry," Dobby answered primly.

"Yes, that's nice, as far as it goes. But suppose I'm away on a trip, and you are here guarding the house. You don't just go hungry, do you? What would you eat when you are not cooking for me?"

Dobby grinned; he was finally learning that Harry was genuinely interested in what he had to say. "Dobby is liking... French toast! I think that is Dobby's favorite, Master Harry, sir!"

"Excellent, Dobby!" Harry congratulated his elf. "Then how about you make us both some nice French toast for dinner? Until then, show me how to work the controls on this infernal bathtub contraption; it isn't like any I've ever seen before."

Some minutes later, Harry was sitting in sudsy water up to his neck, truly relaxing. The control for moving the water about was quite like a muggle jacuzzi, massaging the hot water into his sore leg. It felt heavenly. He sipped from time out of a tall glass of iced tea, and read the book in the bathtub book stand in front of him.

He was reading in _The Strength of The Mind_ about a spell that would make it easier to understand, absorb, and remember the contents of a book. The book cautioned that the spell would only last for a few minutes, and that trying to do the spell too many times in a row could give one a headache. The spell was offered as a demonstration of what was possible in the magical mind of a wizard.

"Why not?" he said aloud. "I certainly have a lot to learn, and this will help, I'll take it." He studied the incantation for a moment before pointing his wand at his forehead, saying clearly, "_celeritas librium visum eruditio_".

He didn't feel anything. _Hmm, maybe I did it wrong. Okay, it's bath time, I'll worry about it later._ It was only after the bath was draining and Harry was drying off with the fluffiest towel he had ever seen that it occurred to him.

He had finished the book. While the bathwater was still hot. And... he remembered it. It didn't feel any different from reading and slowly pondering the contents of every word on every page; it just didn't take as much time.

He noticed that he could recall any item in the book with a little effort. It said that you couldn't do the spell too often, or too close together. _But it didn't say how often was too often,_ he mused. _Perhaps it's different for every person. Better take it easy at first, just a couple tonight._

A thought stuck him. "Dobby," he said, and the elf appeared in front of him instantly. "Do you know of any books that I can read that will help me learn about the other magical races?"

"Like elves, Master Harry, sir?"

"Yes, like elves, and goblins, and centaurs, and giants, and... well, whatever. I don't remember seeing any such books at Hogwarts; the only thing I know is what I've heard from others, and I don't think I trust that very much. Most of what I've heard is just dumb. Any ideas on where I should look?"

"Master Harry might consider his library at the Black House," said the elf. "Master Harry hasn't been there yet to take charge of the house."

"I know, Dobby, but I also know who is there, and I don't want to see those people for a while. I am learning that they don't really have my own best interests at heart; just their _own_ ideas about what they think my best interests should be. Know what I mean?"

"Master Harry's friends sometimes don't listen to him?" the elf asked.

"I think that's exactly right. They all think they know what's best for me, but they haven't tried to actually get to know me. So, I don't think I want to go there until I can decide some things."

"Dobby can bring the books here tomorrow, if Master Harry wants," Dobby said.

"Okay, that sounds like a plan. Not before breakfast, though. I'm hoping to sleep in tomorrow," Harry said with a grin. "So, French toast for dinner?"

The two wandered back to the kitchen, happily discussing the finer points of the best French toast. Syrup, marmalade, powdered sugar, whole eggs, egg whites... It made for cheery conversation.

/\

Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London

"Thank you for coming, my friends," said Albus Dumbledore. He was seated at the head of the long table in the kitchen, looking around at the faces that had gathered. Everyone there was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but - as this was not an official Order meeting - not everyone in the Order was present. Moody, Tonks, Molly and Arthur Weasley, and Severus Snape were the only ones there.

"Mrs. Figg has alerted me to something that is disturbing me greatly." Heads nodded and faces took on looks of varying degrees of concern around the table. When Dumbledore was "disturbed", it wasn't going to be good news.

The pause became uncomfortable, and Mad-Eye Moody spoke up, "Alright, you've set your mood. Get on with it then." The old, retired auror's gruffness broke some of the tension in the room. He hated being led around like a child, and didn't mind embarrassing anybody who tried it.

"Yes, Alastor... I... yes, I supposed I'd better. Harry Potter, and the entire Dursley family, have disappeared."

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Molly Weasley said, quite loud. "If those blasted muggles have hurt that poor boy, I'll-"

"For 'poor boy', read 'young idiot'," injected Snape, a very snide sneer twisting his thin lips.

"Everyone, please," placated Dumbledore, his hands waving everyone to calm. "Whatever has happened, it appears to have happened to all of them."

Moody asked in his gravelly voice, "What in bloody blazes do we have guards and wards there for? Somebody snuck past our watcher, slipped through the layers of wards, and made off with 'em without so much as a squeak of alarm?"

"Yes, well..." began Dumbledore. "Mrs. Figg has checked Number 4, and found the place empty."

Snape mumbled, "Probably ran away, the spoiled little-"

Moody stopped him. "Snape, you're such an arse-hole you could be dean of arse-holery at Oxford. In fact, I don't know why you weren't recruited by the All-England Arse-hole Team." He had seen Harry in action, and wasn't having it. Snape made as if to stand, reaching for the wand in his sleeve, before seeing Moody's wand pointed right between his eyes. "Go ahead. Please, Death Eater. Pretty-please-with-molasses-on-it, draw your wand."

Dumbledore looked around at the group with him. Rather than being cohesive and united in the face of a problem, they were ready to kill each other. Severus was being... well, being Severus. Moody's temper was shorter than he had ever seen it, and Molly looked torn between motherly worry and being ready to throttle the Potions Master. There were no less than 4 people shouting within ten feet of his hairy chin. Sighing, he raised his wand and let off a loud _bang!_ "Everyone, please!"

Molly immediately looked ashamed, Snape's sneer deepened, Arthur continued to wait placidly, but Moody turned back to the headmaster. "Please what?"

"Alastor, please let us bring our attention to the matter at hand," answered Dumbledore. Moody 'harrumphed', his magic eye spinning wildly as he clamped his jaw shut and crossed his arms.

Dumbledore continued, "I have been to the house on Privet Drive, and found some things you all need to know. The house is empty. No Harry, no Dursleys, no furniture, no clothing. Also no blood wards." Molly and Tonks gasped at that. "The only thing that could bring down the blood wards is for Harry to no longer to consider it his home. And the only way they could have left without setting off alarms was if it was voluntary for all of them."

Snape answered, "Maybe now you'll finally believe me; your precious little golden boy has-"

That was as far as he got before his voice failed. Snape's mouth continued to move, but no sound emerged. Moody lowered his wand, saying, "Maybe I should call you Appendix. Because all you ever produce is bile, nobody can figure out why you exist, and it's been proven we can all live quite well without an appendix."

"Alastor, remove your spell at once!"

"Go fish."

"This petty arguing with one another is not helping-"

"Pay attention, Albus. We are not all fighting with one another. Your entire Order is united in clarity of purpose: getting that slimy shit-wit to shut the hell up."

"Right!" "Yes." "Finally." The answers came from around the table, every face looking at Dumbledore.

Before the headmaster could go on with his attempt at lecturing a room full of grown men and women, Moody continued. "Who was the guard on watch?"

"I'm afraid we don't know that. Mundungus was on watch when Harry returned to Privet Drive from Hogwarts, and reported that the whole family entered the house. Some time later, he reported that the Dursleys left the house without Harry. When he was relieved that night, Harry had still not left and the Dursleys had still not returned. As I'm sure you all know," he continued in a quiet voice, "it was not uncommon for the Dursleys to go out and about without Harry."

He stoically bore the angered glances from around the room. Nearly every one of them had voiced their objections about leaving Harry with the Dursleys. "The morning of the third day, Mrs. Figg flooed me and asked what to do. On my instruction, she went to the house that afternoon to check. She found it empty.

"There's more," he seemed reluctant to go on. "In the front hall, there were signs of a struggle. There was evidence that Harry was hurt." The mood changed in the room again at that little bomb, Dumbledore stopped.

Moody's gravelly voice growled a little before he spoke. "You love this, don't you?"

"I'm worried about Harry, Alastor, that's all-" Dumbledore tried to answer, before he was cut off again.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. You just love drawing up the tension, raising emotions high, playing everyone's heartstrings with your little pregnant pauses. Stop being such a drama queen, you old fart!"

"Alastor, I really don't think that attitude is going to get us anywhere. I'll ask you to recall that you volunteered for-"

"I volunteered to help this group protect Harry Potter, not to spend the rest of my life kissing your wrinkly old arse. Answer the sodding question."

"Please, everyone, we're doing everything in our power to make sure Harry gets a chance to have a normal-"

"Oh, stop it! You and your little secret club are doing three great steaming helpings of diddly squat, with jack-shite gravy. Same as always, like the bureaucrats that you are. Just like Voldemort wants. You talk a good game, Dumbledore; but since I've started hanging around with your fan club, the only time I've seen you actually _do something_ was last year at the ministry, when you thought your little tool was getting murdered. What are you actually _doing_?"

"Looking for Harry."

"NO, YOU'RE NOT!" thundered the ex-auror. "You're sitting around a table talking shite! Harry Potter is not on my forehead, so sitting there and staring at my face is not going to get him found."

The rest of the room was watching the exchange between their most senior members. Even Snape - still silenced - was watching with interest to see the outcome of this one. Dumbledore sighed; he could see he was going to lose control of the entire group if he didn't find a way to stop this; but the ex-auror was too old and too smart to be bullied. "Alastor, nobody has more concern than I for Harry's welfare. Nobody wants him found more than I-"

"And yet, you're still talking," interrupted Moody with a glare. "I'm not an ickle firstie, Dumbledore. You get a lot of mileage out of that twinkly-eyed kindly old grandfather horse-flop, but I'm eighty-five next month, and I've seen it before. As far as I can tell, you're all show and no go."

He stood. "I'm going to look for Harry. I'm going to find out how badly he was hurt, or even if he's still breathin' in an' out. Anybody else interested?" he said, looking around the table. "Or are ye going to just going to keep inhaling Dingle-Dork's exhaust?" The stunned group looked back at him, aghast that he would talk that way to the man widely considered to be the wisest and most powerful living wizard.

Molly was the first to answer. "I think Albus knows what he's doing; he's never steered us wrong before," she said.

"It's ruddy simple to never steer wrong when you never get on the broom." Moody had obviously had his fill. His magical eye was spinning almost too fast to see. "And it's pretty easy to follow someone who's not going anywhere." He raised his walking stick and disapparated, with a _crack!_ so loud it hurt the ears of those who remained.

He never did remove the silencing charm from Snape. Dumbledore released his potions master.


	5. Chapter 5  Greenhouse of the soul

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, and thanks for reading.

/\

Chapter 5 - Greenhouse of the soul

Moody stood in the entry hall at Number 4, Privet Drive, scratching his chin and surveying the mess. There was a lot of dried blood and other things on the floor, but that didn't put him off as much as it might have. He'd seen too many puddles of blood over his years of fighting evil to be worried until he actually saw the body.

But where was the body? He could see the marks where Harry had been dragged, or dragged himself over to the wall. Why hadn't the alarms gone off? There's only two ways young Potter could have been injured this badly without setting off the wards. Either he'd done it to himself, or that bloody so-called 'family' had attacked him.

If the young man had attacked himself this viciously - say, in a suicide attempt - then his corpse would still be here. One thing you had to say for Harry Potter: he didn't quit things half-done.

So that left the Dursleys.

Anybody who saw Alastor Moody at that moment would have seen his countenance become even more frightening than it normally was. His fifty-plus years as one of the most successful aurors the ministry had ever seen had taught him how to deal with muggles. He quickly apparated to Diagon Alley, cast a glamour upon himself and stepped through the Leaky Cauldron to muggle London. Right where he knew it would be, there was a muggle police call box.

Not many minutes later, he was striding back toward Diagon Alley for his next apparation - out of sight of the muggles.

/\

Harry was having the most revealing time of his life. Using his _celeritas_ charm from _The Strength of The Mind_, he had been able to understand quickly why its use was limited to only a few uses at a time. Using it on the book that it came in, he was then able to understand why it was limited. It was simply a matter of strengthening one's ability to continue to use the spell. Like any muscle, it could be built up to be stronger.

Heeding Healer Goosecreature's instructions to the letter, Harry was spending a lot of time sitting on his bum; and he was loving it. For the first time in his life, it was possible to relax his mind and body. No dashing about doing his Cinderella bit for the Dursleys. No dashing about the halls rushing to classes like Divination that had no true bearing on his life. _Or perhaps on anyone's life,_ thought Harry.

Dobby was taking excellent care of him. Rather than cleaning up all of Gryffindor tower, Dobby now had one wizard to look after; and Harry was probably already the tidiest male wizard in Britain. Having spent his entire childhood picking up and cleaning up after unappreciative slobs, he had intimate knowledge of how much work was caused by dropping a sock on the floor. So while other boys his age would make messes, it seldom occurred to Harry to do so.

As a result of Dobby having more time available, he was the most eager conversationalist, and was helping Harry to learn things that the young wizard suspected no human had learned in hundreds of years. Things like who the rulers of the other races really were, and how their respective governments worked.

Additionally, the mind magic book had helped him to learn the concept of critical thinking, and how to apply it. It made so much sense to Harry - immediately - that he wondered how people managed to get through their lives without it. His life was surrounded by thousands of examples of how people refused to think rationally; and he was somewhat ashamed to admit to himself that he was just as big a culprit.

_No more_, he thought. _Everybody says you shouldn't be dumb. But nobody bothered to tell me just what 'dumb' is._ Until he began to read. One side-effect of the _celeritas_ charm was that, after reading and absorbing the contents of a book, he was able to see instantly how the information in it matched and dovetailed with other information from other sources. Access to so much information - some of it conflicting and unblushingly contradictory - was forcing Harry to exercise the critical process.

Some things, like personal preferences, could conflict with no contradiction. If one person said pumpkin juice was heavenly and another said it was bilious swill... if they were both telling the truth... then it was possible that they were both correct, and there was no factual conflict. But if one said pumpkin juice was orange pumpkin color and another said it was cerulean blue... well, Harry was learning that _more_ information and _more_ understanding meant _less_ contradiction.

Nearing the end of June, Harry had learned to integrate his mental ability to 'stand apart' with his newly-acquired reasoning skills; and coolly used his observations to deduce some things about his life - not all of which were very nice.

For example, Harry had to face up to the hard deduction that Dumbledore was lying. Thinking back on all of his personal experiences, at home and at Hogwarts, there were too many factual conflicts to continue to believe hardly anything the old man had said.

The tunnel to Honeydukes? The Sorcerer's Stone? The Chamber of Secrets? The Tournament? No one with a rational mind could believe that all due care and attention was being paid to the safety of students.

And Harry realized that he was _not_ being trained to fight Voldemort. Since the day he had learned he was a wizard and received his first wand, Harry had not been taught a single, solitary skill or piece of knowledge that would help him defeat Voldemort. And Dumbledore was still keeping the prophesy a secret.

Ergo: Dumbledore didn't want him to win.

The headmaster had not taken any steps to assist Harry in preparing for facing the worst Dark Lord in centuries. Occlumency? A painful joke. Dueling? A Lockhart farce. Physique? Sitting on a broom while it flies you around is not even exercise, and is certainly not going to build any 'Quidditch muscles'. Love? Doubtful, unless Riddle was acutely allergic to group hugs. Strategy? Harry doubted there was anyone at Hogwarts even qualified to teach that.

If Dumbledore was to be believed, then Harry was being groomed to fight the Dark Lord by studying gardening, animal husbandry, and home economics. He was quite sure that this state of affairs had been reported to Voldemort by his many vassals. He was equally sure that Voldemort felt very little fear about Harry Potter, world-famous skrewt-herder.

Harry had also come to realize that Tom Riddle was never going to quit until Harry killed him, or was dead himself. Not because of a stupid prophesy made by a drunken mush-brain Divination teacher, but because Riddle was a psychopathic terrorist, and you can't reason with insane people.

He made himself a 'what to do' list, based on what he was able to conclude so far. Ignoring for the moment that this was most un-Harry-like behavior, he surveyed his work:

Fact: Dumbl can't be trusted. Action: Action: avoid and ignore.

Fact: I am emancipated and rich. Action: be my own man.

Fact: I have 3 libraries. Action: read them.

Fact: I'm tired of being the victim. Action: take charge of my life.

Fact: People around me are sheep. Action: give them a new shepherd.

Fact: Dobby's English is weak. Action: Help him with it.

Fact: I don't know much magic. Action: learn more from my 3 libraries.

Fact: Voldemort's a dick. Action: Kill him.

"Dobby?" he called.

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"You know about my library at my house in Grimmauld Place, right? You have seen it?"

"Yes, Master Harry."

"How much work would it be to move it here and put it with this library?"

"Dobby could do it in one hours by himself. Double elves cut time in half."

"So, if you had six elves, you could do it all in five minutes?" Dobby thought about it, then nodded. "Do you know where to get that many elves to help you?" The elf nodded again, and Harry got a fun thought. "Good. Get word to your friends and find out if they can do it at seven o'clock tomorrow morning. Get as much help as you think you'll need. Any questions?"

"Master Harry... some of Master Harry's books are not... some of them have been taken. Even to other places."

"People have been taking my books out of my house?" Dobby nodded, yes. "Do you have the ability to find them and get them?"

"Dobby is Master Harry's house elf." He stood tall, his diminutive stature taking on an impressive stance. "Dobby has power to return and protect all of Master Harry's things."

"Okay, Dobby; just don't get yourself hurt. If getting my books back from wherever they are puts you in danger, just come back and let me know. I don't want you or your other elf friends hurt."

Two weeks earlier, that little sentiment would have sent Dobby into a paroxysm of weeping glee. Today, it just made him smile; proud to be a valued friend of The Great Harry Potter. He bowed and disappeared with a small pop.

/\

At seven o'clock the next morning, thirty-one house elves from all over Great Britain began rapid-fire popping into the large library at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Since there were so many elves, they didn't bother with boxes; they just grabbed a few books and disappeared - often just in time for another elf to appear where they were standing to grab some more books. Like a well-rehearsed ballet, elves popped several times per second for the show. The noise was terrific, waking the entire Weasley clan from their slumbers except Molly, who was downstairs preparing the morning meal. She let out a squeak when the little shelf of cookbooks she referred to in the kitchen was snatched by an elf and disappeared.

In Houghton Regis, Hermione Granger was sitting at her desk, at the window of her bedroom, having the first cup of tea of her day and reading a musty old tome. Until, that is, an elf showed up with an impertinent look on its face, snatched the book right out of her fingers, and disappeared.

At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland, the headmaster was sound asleep in his quarters when no less than seven elves entered his office, took many books, and left again seconds later.

At Malfoy Manor, the books taken there by Severus Snape were gone before the family even realized what the alarms meant.

At home after his comfortable breakfast, Harry smiled quietly to himself while the rapid procession of elves popped in and out, putting each of his books on a shelf in the library. He was amused at the idea of having his books snatched from fingers, over outraged protests.

At four minutes past seven o'clock, the work was done, and thirty-one elves stood in Harry's comfortable sitting room. Harry stood with his after-breakfast tea, beaming at them.

"Thank you. Thank you all, my friends. You have been a great help to me, and to Dobby... and I hope you had a little fun doing it." He bowed slightly at the waist and inclined his head to them, showing his respect in the old elven manner.

An older elf whom Harry didn't know stepped forward. "I am Colter. I wished to see for myself about Dobby's new master, and I have seen. Harry Potter is a good master. We will take our leave, young master, but we shall not forget." Colter bowed, which led all the rest of the elves to bow, before they all disappeared - except Dobby, who was smiling so hard his lips were in danger of meeting behind his neck.

"Colter likes you, Master Harry."

Harry didn't know just what to make of that, but he knew more friends wouldn't hurt.

/\

_Dear Harry,_

_Just what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now? Professor Dumbledore came and asked me, along with my parents, if we knew where you were. I told him I thought you were still with your family, but apparently that isn't true._

_Harry, I know you aren't comfortable with the Dursleys, but you have to understand that Dumbledore just wants what's best for you. Can't you see that? I can't believe you have to make everything so hard when everybody is just trying to help you. You need to learn to trust him._

_By the way, I was reading a nice book with my morning tea when a house elf showed up, yanked it out of my hands and disappeared. No greeting, no words, just rude. That wasn't very nice._

_Write to me, I want to know what's going on. The Order is driving me crazy!_

_With love,_

_Hermione_

Harry stood there, holding the letter and working his way through his mental calming exercises, and finally sighing. His owl post was still being filtered and anonymized by the efficient service provided by the post office, and they had provided him with a nifty little magical indicator to hang in his home. The indicator chime had gone off, so he had sent Dobby to the post office to get his incoming mail.

And this was what he got. Of all the... After last year, if there was anyone Harry thought would be willing to listen to him, it would have been Hermione. But now she was back in her 'teacher knows best' mode. He reached for his notebook and a biro to dash off a note.

_Hermione,_

_I am recovering from the attack nicely, mentally and physically, with the help of a good healer. Thank you so much for asking... oh, wait; you didn't._

_You are truly the queen of ultracrepidarianism._

_Hold this letter in your left hand and promise that you will not reveal my secrets to anyone without checking with me first. When you have done it, I will know, and I will explain everything._

_Hoping this finds you well and enjoying your summer, I remain,_

_Your friend,_

_Harry_

Harry rolled up the notebook paper and secured it to Hedwig's leg with a rubber band. Easier to attach than string, and less likely to fall off before arrival, and was less to get in the way if the owl had to perch for a rest while carrying it.

_There,_ he thought. _That's a nice word that should keep her busy for a few minutes._ Ultracrepidarianism: the practice of giving opinions outside of one's knowledge. But it wasn't in any magical dictionary, and wasn't in any muggle dictionary published any time recently. She would have to go to a library to find that word, and he knew she would go. She couldn't stand somebody else knowing something she didn't.

One of his books had taught him monitoring spells. There was no need to put any complicated spell-work on the letter; just a simple magic-detection and identification was enough. When she gave her word, the little snow globe on his mantle by her picture would turn cloudy and ring with a pretty bell sound.

Something so simple, and yet so foreign to the learning given out in such miserly handfuls at Hogwarts. It was almost as if the teachers were jealously making sure that the students couldn't know as much as their teachers did. Shelves, rows, cavernous rooms full of books on how to brush teeth, shine shoes, and turn paperweights into turtles. Anything even marginally more useful than that was locked up in the Restricted Section at the library - or missing completely.

_Just what's so all-fired 'restricted' about Polyjuice Potion?_ he wondered. The school claimed they were the most prestigious school for preparing young witches and wizards to be safe, well-adjusted and productive adults. Was that true? Was learning how to comb one's hair and transfigure household bric-a-brac the best that the best school could offer?

Most students that Harry knew spent their time devising ways to avoid studying any more than absolutely needed for a decent grade. And if one were forced to face it, a passing grade wasn't all that difficult to achieve. A few people like Hermione took great pride in memorizing great volumes of meaningless trivia; but the only profession wherein that knowledge would be of any use was in the Ministry - and as a muggle-born, there was precisely zero chance she would ever be permitted to work there.

Harry knew that muggles grew up learning at least a smattering of maths, history, literature, science, and the arts; exposed to a wide variety of topical areas to help them decide which specific field they wanted to pursue as their own interest later in life. What did Hogwarts offer?

Arithmancy - math - was optional from day one. There was nothing in place to ensure that the average wizard could even be sure he got the correct change at the candy shop. Thanks to Binns, history was about as useful as teats on a boar. No fine arts were taught, and no art or music appreciation classes were even available. And the only actual 'science' Harry had seen was Herbology.

This was supposed to be an education? From the most prestigious magical school in the world? Harry shuddered to think just what criteria were used to measure and determine that prestige.


	6. Chapter 6  If your quill offends you

A/N: Again, heartfelt thanks to everyone for reading and for the nice reviews. Some have asked about the pairings. Please be patient; it's coming.

/\

Chapter 6 - If your quill offends you...

At two forty-six pm, Harry sent Dobby to the magical post office in Hogsmeade. As the office closed at three for the day, he thought it prudent to conclude his business quickly. Though it was unlikely that he would be bothered on this fine June day, he didn't feel like wearing his cloak disguise in the warmth, and certainly wasn't willing to risk being seen by any Hogwarts staff or Order members.

Hermione's highly-incensed reply letter had made it quite clear that she had no intention of giving him the benefit of the doubt. She was apparently convinced that, no matter what he had to say, Dumbledore could trump it.

His anger at Dumbledore had run its course over the few weeks he'd been on his own. He wasn't livid anymore - but that didn't mean he was at peace with what had been done. The old headmaster had many things to answer for, but Harry wasn't willing to expend any more energy on fuming about it. _When the time comes,_ he thought, _there will be an accounting._

Meanwhile, he could still feel amused at just how many people worshiped the very ground Dumbledore walked on. People like Hermione and the Weasleys were quite prepared to accept as gospel every word that procedeth out of the mouth of Albus. Being honest with himself, Harry couldn't blame any of them too harshly. After all, hadn't Harry himself shouted to the spectre of Tom Riddle that he was Albus Dumbledore's man? But that had all stopped for him when he learned the prophesy, and what came along with it.

Yes, there were many dozens of things that Harry wished to tell Hermione. But he would not tell her until he had her word. She had several good traits; loyalty, honesty, strength of conviction, passion for causes... and not bad looking, either.

It was truly a shame that she was relaying everything he said to the Order. That much became evident when Dumbledore's letter arrived at the Post Office - a letter that mentioned some of the things in Hermione's letter. _She must have wasted no time getting him involved,_ he thought. _I bet she flooed him as soon as the owl flew in._

He smiled to himself a little at that, picturing her eager, excited face jumping up to take action. 'I found him!' she would have said, in great self-satisfaction; ignoring the fact that she had not found him, and still had no idea where he was. _Hats off to the obfuscatory Owl Post privacy charms._ Because those charms were used by the highest members of the government and the Wizengamot to keep away cranks, even Albus Dumbledore himself wouldn't be able to sway them to reveal Harry's location.

So far, only the goblins and elves knew where he was. A house elf would rather die than reveal a sworn secret of the household master; all of Dobby's helper elves for the library trip had been bound by the same code of honor as long as they were about his work. And the goblins were quite pleased that he had given them his trust. They loved having and withholding information that the wizarding world thought they simply _had_ to have. It was one of the many ways they asserted themselves behind the scenes, and proved to themselves they weren't puppets of the human government.

So the simplest thing, now, was what he was doing. Dobby's errand took him to the post office, to put Hermione and Dumbledore on the list of people who were not to be able to contact him under any circumstances.

It was a simple matter of trust; he had dozens of examples of proof that Dumbledore could not be trusted not to meddle in his affairs, his mind, or his life. The safest course was simply to give the man no handle with which to grab hold.

And because he could not trust Dumbledore, he could not have her giving his information to the old meddler. Hermione's blind trust in any authority figure reflected great credit upon the muggle education system - designed to create unquestioning drones - where she had begun her education as a muggle.

He was tempted to move to Canada, just to make it harder for the meddling Order. But he was comfortable here, had friends and a nice home here, and - thanks to his lawyer, the goblins, and Dobby - had an anonymous place to do a little healing. As young as he was, Harry's habit of standing apart from himself and observing showed him that he had some major mental healing to do, to go along with his physical injuries. And he needed to be left alone to do it. Harry needed to be free of the obligations, expectations and duties that everyone in his life was trying to attach to him.

Sighing, he turned to his library. _Let's see what I can do to make the wards stronger. _He had wizard wards on his home-burrow, Goblin wards, Elven wards... _Maybe I can find some troll wards, or Veela or centaur,_ he mused, part of his mind on what dinner would bring.

Harry's power and facility with magic had nearly doubled in intensity and finesse, in only five days, thanks to his new realizations. He had discovered that conflicting emotions within him also caused conflicting magic, which would start canceling itself out. With some of the conflict removed, he could see that he was, in fact, much more powerful than anyone had suspected.

In fact, now that he'd learned to calm himself at will, Harry now knew that Dumbledore's manipulations of his life were directly contributing to his emotional instability, his internal conflicts. All this time, people had been trying to tell him that the 'power the Dark Lord knows not' was love, and they were completely wrong. Love, hate, fear, hunger... all the strongest emotions had been fighting for supremacy in Harry for years, sapping his ability to focus. Every once in a while, one emotion would gain supremacy, and his power at those times had been unambiguously magnificent. Contrary to current 'wisdom', however, it was not because his 'love' was his secret power. It was simply that this quiet, introverted young man felt _everything_ strongly, and those feelings conflicting within him had been crippling.

And either Dumbledore knew this and fostered it, or the headmaster was so oblivious and clueless as to be useless. _Even money either way,_ Harry thought. _Flip a coin._

/\

_August_

Standing in his well-stocked and well-indexed library, he considered just how useful the indexing charm had been. He had studied the library charm that made it possible to search for things by topics, by relationships with other things, or by title or author. That was commonplace, he knew. What was not so common was how Harry was using it.

With what he had gained from _Strength of the Mind_, Harry had gotten the idea of finding a way to make the library indexing charm work for any repository of information - like his mind. He had cast the indexing charm on his library and then spent a quiet evening studying the charm in action. At the end of the night, he had modified the _celeritas_ charm to include automatic cross-referencing. Now, anything he read while that charm was in place was exhaustively indexed with anything else he knew. He had, in effect, a concordance in his head. Every word was now related to every other word. At his command, every thought could trigger a related thought, in a rapid-fire fashion that retrieved linked information astonishingly fast. Astonishing, that is, to anyone but Harry.

He had also, through practice, brought himself to the point where he could endure the heightened influx from the spell for longer and longer periods. Still only a few hours a day; but a few hours at a pace that had enabled him to complete all his NEWT studies for the next two years. In three days.

He had learned that his mind was the focus for his magic; not the words, or the wand, or the motions. With his mind exercises, he could see magic at will. Much like the 'aura' perception he had already had experience with; but now, he could do it at will, and see things in much greater detail.

He could look at a ward, or a charm, and see immediately what the purpose of it was. To Harry's eyes, examining spell work in this way was like zooming in on a piece of cloth. Zoom in far enough, and one could see the individual fibers, the spaces between, the strengths and weaknesses. He could see how to duplicate it, after seeing it only once. He could see where it was weakest. And he could see the 'spaces' where one could bypass it completely, accomplishing whatever he wished without the ward or charm having any effect at all - conceptually, it was like ducking under a trip-wire.

He could even change a spell after it had been cast.

He could transfigure a spell after it had been cast, and spent quite a bit of time deep in his cave, in his practice room, casting slow spells and changing their route in flight, then changing the spells altogether.

Harry had learned more in two months, on his own without teachers or tutors, than any current student at Hogwarts was likely to learn in the rest of their lives. Not merely because of volume of material, but because of the difference between rote memorization and true learning.

He knew the difference because of his research into education. Students, both magical and muggle, memorized and recited things that they didn't really understand. Remembered them long enough to pass the exam. And two months after that exam, that student couldn't tell you even the small fact they'd memorized. On into early adulthood, most wouldn't even remember that they had taken the class, until prompted by another.

Learning, however, was more than gathering and storing information; it was gaining the understanding of how that thing fell into its place in the universe. It was gaining a depth of understanding that showed not just _what_ is so, but _why_. It was the difference between rote memorization and true education; the difference between just being able to use something in daily life, and being able to improve it or replace it with something better.

If necessity was the mother of invention, then comprehension was the father. Without understanding and ability, all the necessity in the world could not spawn progeny. Old Mother Necessity could be the biggest slut in the universe; but without an injection of "Oh, now I get it" from Mac-Daddy Brains, cute little Baby Invention would never be conceived.

Harry came to a decision: he would not be returning to Hogwarts on September 1st. That would have to be delayed. There were too many things that had to be done first.

He knew that there was nothing at Hogwarts that would, or could, protect him from Voldemort. The moment he appeared on Platform 9-3/4 - or any other platform - he was immediately exposed to the possibility of another attack. Because there was no _if_; there was only _when_.

He knew that, whether he believed in prophesy or not, the rest of the wizarding world believed in it, including Tom Riddle. So whether or not it was true, Voldemort was going to proceed as if it were, and keep trying to kill Harry Potter, and never stop until he thought he was safe.

He also knew that Death Eaters never attacked singly. Like any other bully, they were strongest as a gang, and individually weak and cowardly. So any future attack was not going to be one-against-one, but Harry against many.

Harry would have to get tough, get hard. Transform himself into a regular Billy Badass. Make sure that, when he was attacked, he could handle the battle, make it his own, and stomp necks.

Emotionally, he was quite torn. All the friends he had ever had in his life would be on that platform, on that train, or at that school on September 1st. His friends needed his new learning to survive. He was honest enough to know that the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries had only ended in a tactical draw because the cavalry had arrived and the bad guys had scarpered. Had Dumbledore and the Aurors not arrived, Harry and his foolishly brave friends would have been snake-food.

On the other hand, if he turned up before he was ready, he would not be any help, and could jeopardize the fate of the wizarding world. The Death Eaters didn't know the prophesy, and wouldn't hesitate to attack him or his friends to gain favor with ol' snake-face.

No. He needed at least another month, perhaps more.

Especially since Griphook had agreed to help him to learn more about goblins. In one visit to try to understand his accounts and holdings, he had realized that he (like all wizards) knew next to nothing about the diminutive bankers.


	7. Chapter 7  O' Waxahatchie

A/N: Decided to post two chapters today, as Chapter 6 is largely setup for what comes here: Harry returns to Hogwarts! Thanks for all your wonderful reviews; some are accurate predictions and some are not, but we'll all soon see which ones are which.

/\

Chapter 7 - O' Waxahatchie, fair and proud...

_Friday, November 1st. 5:30 pm. The day I go back to school._

Harry didn't pack anything at all for his trip to the school. With his ability for travel, he could step back here to his under-hill home even easier than going to the Gryffindor tower. He hadn't dressed up for the occasion; just jeans, tunic, boots and his hooded cloak. One corner of his mouth curled up in a little grin at the thought of how many people he was going to upset today, before he brought his emotions back under control and reached for his crooked staff.

At precisely 5:30 pm, the time when Harry knew the crowd in Great Hall would be at its largest, he _stepped_... and appeared just beyond the entrance doors to the hall. Walking slowly, his staff tapping on the stone floor, he moved into view of the room, stopping just inside the doors.

The Great Hall fell into silence, broken only by the rustling of robes as students and teachers jostled each other for a better position to see what was going on. Then, precisely as he had hoped, Harry heard Snape speak first. "What are _you_ doing here?" asked the potions master, his voice dripping with venom.

"Watch your mouth, Syphilis," replied Harry, his voice carrying across the hall.

"You little-" was all Harry heard, as the silence of the entire school ramped through murmur to roar in seconds. _Good,_ thought he, _that got their attention._ He continued to move into the large hall, holding his staff and looking in apparent boredom at the head table.

Dumbledore raised his hand and the noise level dropped. "What can we do for you, Mr. Potter?"

"Oh, terribly sorry," Harry said with a bow and flourish. "I thought you wanted me here. I'll just go then, shall I?" He turned and took a few steps toward the exit.

"N-no, please... join us for dinner, Mr. Potter," stuttered the old fraud. "Of course we all want you here." Harry turned back to see him standing, gesturing grandly to the Gryffindor table. "Then perhaps we could have a nice chat? Good, good," Dumbledore continued when Harry turned toward his old house and moved to join them.

He sat at the end of the table closest to the front, where there was some room near some first years. True to form, Gryffindor had kept their first year students well mixed in with the rest, to protect them somewhat from other houses. After what he had learned over the break and early autumn, Harry had no preference as to where he sat, and wasn't particularly hungry, so he just had a little raspberry trifle and pumpkin juice, and settled down to wait.

Harry had already figured that the reunion with his house could go one of three ways. _I wonder how things will play out,_ he thought, waiting to see whether he'd get ten thousand questions, or pats on the back, or temper tantrums. He had a pretty idea, but was not much in real Divination.

In just a few short moments, Seamus spoke from a few seats away. "Oy, Harry! What was that you called Snape? Syphilis? What's that?"

Harry looked over at Seamus, seeing that just about the whole table was waiting for the answer. Trust the irrepressible young Irishman to step right up to the wicket. "You know his first name is Severus, right?" Seamus nodded. "Well, syphilis is a muggle venereal disease. Prolonged exposure to it causes blindness and insanity, it can be the source of a serious pain in your todger, and is widely thought to have originated with idiots fucking sheep."

Aghast with his boldness, they were shocked for a few seconds before the entire table began to laugh uproariously, getting louder as the answer was relayed down the long table. Harry didn't have to look to see that Snape was about to throw a major wobbly. _Good, I want him so off-balance and pissed off that he can't think straight._

Ginny said, "It's good to see you, Harry. Welcome back."

Hermione said, "Harry, where on earth have you been? How come you're late for school? Do you know how much work you've missed? You have some explaining to do, mister! You have to-"

From Ron, "You gonna want to play Quidditch this year, mate?"

Harry waited until the barrage ran out of steam before answering, "Yes, yes, we'll all have a nice chat. But not here, and not now."

"Mr. Potter," he heard from Professor McGonagall over his shoulder. "The headmaster would like to see you in his office." She was visibly upset to anyone who knew her, but her manner was as proper and polite as always. _I've always liked her,_ he thought. _I do hope we'll still get along after I say what I have to say._ He said nothing, but stood to follow her from the room, across the hall, up the stairs past the gargoyle, to enter the office.

When he stepped into Dumbledore's office, Snape loomed from behind the door, grabbing Harry roughly by the arm and attempting to yank him around and into the room. "You glory-seeking little-" and that was as far as he got. Harry grabbed the hand holding him, twisted it up behind Snape's back and shoved him face-first into the stone wall, quite hard. Snape turned around, touching his nose and seeing the blood, and raised his wand, a curse on his lips. Before he could utter a single syllable, Harry slammed the knobbly head of his staff into the greasy git's throat, cutting off his air. Snape collapsed to the floor; choking, dizzy, and momentarily unable to breathe.

Dumbledore spoke sharply, "That's enough, Harry!"

"Yes, I agree, that's quite enough of that kind of nonsense," replied Harry calmly.

"You have some explaining to do-"

"I suppose I must, if I expect you to learn."

"Would you like to begin with your reasons for attacking my potions master?"

"Choose your words more accurately, Headmaster. Syphilis here physically assaulted me, and then attacked an unarmed student with a wand on school property. Will you call the aurors, or shall I?"

"You are not exactly unarmed, with that staff-"

"This is not a wand or a magical staff, it's a crutch; one which I need to walk after having my bones broken and crippled in the safe and loving care of my relatives, where you left me."

"Harry, _Professor_ Snape was only concerned about your welfare-"

"Oh, obviously. Syphilis attacked me, twice, out of his concern for my welfare. I can see I'll have to call the aurors myself."

"Young man, I am still the headmaster of this school, and Professor Snape is-"

"Am I a student here?"

"Yes, and-"

"Am I legally an adult?"

"Well, that may-"

"Do I pay my own tuition?"

"I don't see where any of this-"

"Oh, stop your waffling." McGonagall begin to protest, but stopped herself after a glance at Dumbledore. Harry continued, "Let's recap, shall we? I am an adult. I am a student here. I pay my own tuition. Ergo, you and Syphilis work for me, and not the other way around."

Dumbledore began to back-track, seeing that the authoritarian approach wasn't going to fly. "Harry, please try to see reason... We have nothing but your own best interests and safety in mind. We wanted you to have a normal childhood, as much as possible, and-"

"Liar." Harry's single word stopped the old man in mid-sentence.

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall protested again. "You will show some respect-" and was stopped again, this time by a look from Harry.

"Professor McGonagall, you have a admirable mind, and many decades of experience. I have great respect and admiration for your knowledge and your character. Having said that; _shame on you._ You should know better." She is shocked into silence. "His lies don't even agree with his other lies."

Harry continued. "I can see that you wish me to explain. Very well." He looked Dumbledore right in the eye and began to speak, clearly and evenly.

"Item: At the age of one, I was put in the hateful care of the Dursleys, directly violating explicit instructions in my parents' will to the contrary, which was and is against the law.

"Item: Dumbledore - don't interrupt, I only show respect for those who earn it - Dumbledore claims to have had watchers stationed at the Dursley residence since my first year, and probably longer, for my protection. Either he's lying, or _all_ of his watchers are deaf and blind. Not a single injury or abuse was prevented. No injuries were treated, nor even reported.

"Item: In my first year, the Sorcerer's Stone was removed from a Gringott's vault and moved to the school, because Dumbledore said it was safer; entrusting it to the one man in the world utterly unable to keep any secret. The so-called 'smartest and most powerful wizard in the world' wasn't even able to keep three eleven-year-old children from finding and taking it."

Dumbledore raised a hand, opening his mouth to protest, but Harry was having none of it.

"No. Shut up." At his terse command, the floor rumbled. "Item: almost every student in this school knows of the tunnel to Honeydukes. They also know it is unguarded, unblocked, and apparently unmonitored. The 'smartest and most powerful wizard in the world' either doesn't bother to look, or doesn't care that Death Eaters use that tunnel several times a month."

McGonagall's shocked expression was just getting bigger and bigger... but Harry was no longer the target. She was staring at the headmaster's desk, obviously horrified. She was also thinking very hard. This was clearly the first time these facts had been presented in this way. Harry's 'shame on you' had cut her to the quick. She was appalled at her own lack of reasoning, and alarmed that she had become so complacent that a sixteen-year-old had to wake her up.

"Item: the Chamber of Secrets was opened in my second year. School records, history books, and old newspapers all show that what happened mirrored the events of fifty years before. Students petrified and injured, and Tom Riddle was head boy; building his Dark Lord identity right under the nose of a master Legilimencer mind reader. Yet this same Grindlewald-killing genius couldn't figure out the mystery of the basilisk, when he had fifty years to think about it. Fifty years of Voldemort's little pranks wasn't long enough for him to figure out Hagrid's innocence.

"I am sixteen years old. I know that there are only two things that will petrify someone like that: the petrificus curse and a basilisk. The petrificus wears off in mere hours. Hypothetical question, professors: when students are petrified for two months, what's the cause?"

McGonagall broke in, "Quite correct, Mr. Potter. When you put it that way, it seems so..." before tapering off.

"Yes, professor," Harry said as gently as he could. He could tell that his Transfiguration professor was trying very hard to be genuinely fair.

"Item: Four of the last five Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers were either idiots, actively evil, or both. All of them were carefully selected by the headmaster alone. The one teacher who actually succeeded in teaching _any_ student how to defend against _any_ dark magic of _any_ kind - Remus Lupin - was rewarded for his unusual success by being fired. No-" he raised his hand and stopped the protest rising to Dumbledore's lips. "No, he told me that he was resigning, just like you ordered him to. I found out the truth in the school's public records.

"Item: My name was illegally entered and illegally selected for participation in the Tri-Wizard Tournament - Tri-Wizard, not Quadra-Wizard. According to the tournament by-laws, authored and signed into British law by Minister Gandermold Poon in 1212, that drawing was to have been immediately nullified, and the tournament canceled. But the rules were written - before the Magna Carta - by someone much more honest than our headmaster, who ignored them. He spent his time imploring the heads of the other schools not to withdraw, and carried on with the Tournament, knowingly in _direct violation of the law_."

Dumbledore couldn't meet his gaze anymore, but sat slumped over his desk, his fingers twitching slightly as if from palsy. Snape, on the other hand was getting downright fidgety. He had finally gotten his breath back, growled through his sneer and began to climb to his feet. "_Sectus-_"

Having kept his mind clear and free of the influence of emotion, Harry was still quite lucid and aware of what was going on around him. Casually, with his left hand, he gestured towards Snape; the potion master's wand flew immediately to lay flat upon the headmaster's desk. Snape was lifted bodily off the ground and hung on the wall, much like a coat on a hook. With a dismissing wave, Harry silenced him without looking.

Still quite calm, leaning on his staff just a little, Harry continued.

"Item: Dumbledore and his little Disorder of the Phoenix are using my house without my permission, and without even formal notification. He and his little gang members have stolen my property, intimidated and interrogated my friends, spied on my movements, and even attempted to abduct me.

"The headmaster has been repeatedly been notified, by multiple sources both staff and students, that there are known Death Eaters here in the school." McGonagall looked up sharply at Harry. "That's right, professor; Death Eater criminals, bearing the Dark Mark, and even showing it around and bragging about it. Just having Voldemort's little skid-mark on your body is grounds for immediate sentence to Azkaban, no appeal, no rehab. Death Eater students, and a Death Eater teacher. Fumble-more here knows it, and has seen the Dark Marks with his own eyes, and has seen the Death Eaters torture children - including me - at this school. His reaction: 'Shh, don't tell anybody, maybe they'll be good'."

Minerva McGonagall's face had drained of all color. Her hand covering her mouth, she looked like she was about to faint. She was shaking her head, tears leaking slowly down her wrinkled old cheeks, but not saying a word. Like passers-by at a train wreck; she was compelled to see it all.

It was time for Harry to bring it all together for them. "Conclusion: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is a liar." He started tapping his staff on the stone floor, in time with his words. "A full-blown, died-in-the-wool, bald-faced, world-class liar. He's been lying for so long he doesn't even have to try anymore. A nasty little manipulator and destroyer of other people's lives."


	8. Chapter 8  They say you can't go back

A/N: Thanks again for all the encouraging reviews, and thanks for reading.

/\

Chapter 8 - They say you can't go back

Dumbledore shook himself, almost as if waking up. "Yes, well, that was quite impressive. Now, where have you been, Harry?"

"Mr. Potter to you, and none of your business."

"Harry, I must insist-"

"You may feel free to insist all you want, though you will only succeed in making yourself look silly. You are the headmaster of Hogwarts. You are not the headmaster of summer vacation."

There was a pause, during which Harry felt the touch of someone trying Legilimency on him. He could see the magical attempt coming from Dumbledore, just as clearly as if the old man were shooting colored steam out of his forehead. Harry knew that not only would the attack not get through, but it would also not encounter anything. Harry's new knowledge in both magic manipulation and Occlumency meant that a Legilimency attack would show nothing at all, as if Harry weren't even present.

The old man sighed. "Very well. With the time you have missed, you have a lot of catching up to do. I'm sure the teachers will be willing to spend extra time with you, but I shall have to ask you to not leave the school." Trying to hand Harry a parchment, he said, "Here are your courses for the year. We will all work very hard with you to get you ready for... what's coming."

Still quite calm, with no more feeling showing on his face than that of a golem, Harry answered, "No. Hogwarts is reputed to be the best school of magic in the world. And yet, the only thing I have learned here of any use in my fight with Voldemort is the Patronus Charm, and you fired the gentleman who taught me that handy little skill."

"Erm, yes... well, you still have your NEWT-level classes to worry about. You have a lot of catching up to do."

"Why?" asked Harry, simply.

"Why what, Harry?"

"Why should I worry about catching up?"

"Well, didn't you say you wanted to be an Auror? Certainly your career prospects will be-"

"-either nil or unlimited, I'm quite sure," interrupted Harry. "If I destroy Voldemort, nobody will ask me how many NEWTs I have. I'll be able to take any job I wish, from Filch's to Fudge's, and a half-million people will beg to be the one to give it to me. If, however, Riddle puts _me_ down, an epitaph of 'He died with his NEWTs on' isn't going to make it all better, now, is it?"

"I really think you should consider letting us help you get a well-rounded world view, for your life after the battle. I know I speak for all of us when I say that I hope you are victorious, after all." Dumbledore was trying to look grandfatherly again, and it would have worked if not for Harry's ability to see the steaming lies radiating from his aura.

"No you don't. Very little of the wizarding world cares whether I live or die, as long as I kill Riddle. So I shall work to that end. The battle with Voldemort will not be won by cheering charms, re-potting mandrakes, or feeding blast-ended skrewts.

"I shall discuss my class schedule with my head of house. She may tell you of my choices, but I certainly shall not."

"Mr. Potter, I've had just about all I'm going to take from you," said the old meddler.

"Oh, terribly sorry headmaster; I didn't realize I was detaining you." Harry stood holding his staff, a veritable bulwark against which the waves of Dumbledore's attempts at coercion broke like waves on a prow. "You may, of course, leave any time you wish."

It took a few moments for Dumbledore to regain the power of speech. Had this insolent youngster just tried to dismiss him from his own office? "You- Now..." he sputtered.

Harry's expression never changed, but this was the first time he had ever seen the old man rendered speechless. It couldn't last, of course.

"I am still the Headmaster of this school, Mr. Potter. I still have final say over the curriculum, and final responsibility for the safety and well-being of students under my care."

Harry's response was immediate: "Is Draco Malfoy still a prefect?"

"I don't see how that is any-"

Harry raised his staff and stabbed it back into the stone floor of the office. The entire room shook with a booming rumble, rattling items from shelves, and loosening plaster bits from the ceiling. "What are you afraid of? Answer the question, coward."

There was a quiet whimper in the corner, where Professor McGonagall stood, her hands still pressed against her mouth. Her wide-open eyes were shedding tears freely, now.

"Yes." A single word, but Harry could tell how much it cost the old fraud to admit it.

"Then you're a lying, double-dealing old phony. You put a Death Eater in charge of students in their own bedrooms. You put a _murderer_ and a _supporter of Voldemort_ into a position to influence the minds and development of over a hundred young minds. Where is your phoenix?" Harry looked around, emphasizing his point. "How long has Fawkes been gone from your life? You have endangered the lives of defenseless 11-year-old children, just so you could keep playing your sodding games, you disgusting faker!"

"Do you really think you can leave this school or this room, if I don't wish it?" Dumbledore began to rise to his feet and losing his temper.

_Excellent,_ thought Harry. _Exactly what I'd hoped to hear. He's just exposed his perfidy to McGonagall, far better than I ever could._ "Oh, Albus..." Harry heard her say, just before the young student Disapparated.

Harry had planned for this, having anticipated much of the conversation he'd just had. With his ability to mold and shape magic directly with his mind, manipulating the very fabric of magic around him into doing almost anything he could want, he could very easily have just slipped between the wards and left the grounds - the same way he had entered earlier. That method, however, would not have had the impact desired - the impact needed to deal with a bully.

Instead, he gathered magic around him. It required power beyond what had been seen in living memory, or probably even in recorded history. The power was there, available to anyone with a mind trained to see it, and took no more energy from inside Harry than he would expend in scratching the end of his nose. Layers upon layers of wards, added by countless people for over a thousand years, visible to Harry in all colors and some that defied description. He carefully chose eight ward layers to upset. Slipping around all the rest, so as not to leave the school unprotected, he blasted through those eight wards and disappeared.

Standing just outside the front gate of the Hogwarts grounds, he could see the effects his violent movement had caused. The school was still extremely well warded, but he could hear the alarms. Two sirens, three repeating gongs, a bell like a fire alarm, the sound of trumpeting elephants, and a good old-fashioned "a-woo-ga" klaxon. Because of the violent disruption of very old magic, tremors went through the entire castle like a low-level earthquake, which lasted for exactly seventeen seconds.

When everything had died down, he slammed and crashed through the same wards again, then stood in Dumbledore's office waiting for it to die down a second time.

Holding his hand in front of him, palm up, Harry caused a green flame to appear in the air over it. Magically identical to the flame caused by floo powder, he had effectively conjured the functional equivalent of a cell phone. "Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he spoke clearly.

"DMLE, Johnson," came a bored voice. "How can I help you?"

"I need a team of aurors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to arrest an abusive, violent person who has attacked an unarmed student in front of witnesses. I'm sure the school headmaster will admit them through the floo in his office, if you desire to use it."

Looking at the face in his own floo and seeing the famous scar, Johnson murmured to himself at a level he thought was inaudible. Harry heard something like, 'Well, bugger me with a fish fork!' "Right away, Mister Potter. We'll have a team there in half a tick." Johnson signed off, and Harry allowed his hand-floo to extinguish.

He stood with his eyes closed, leaning on his staff, breathing steadily, waiting for the aurors. His knee was hurting him something fierce, and would have been debilitating had he not been ignoring it. He wanted to sit in a nice hot bath for a while, but knew his personal position was stronger if he remained standing, just for a little longer.

In under two minutes, the floo roared its green flame, and two figures stepped out; Tonks and Shacklebolt. _I might have known,_ Harry thought. Intending not to give them time to protest, he began to speak with authority.

"Perfect," Harry said. "Just in time to witness the beginning of the dissolution of the Order. Aurors, I am pressing charges against Severus Snape. He drew his wand and attacked an unarmed student in front of witnesses. He is a violent, bigoted Death Eater, and carries the Dark Mark. You may now do your duty."

As Harry expected, both of them started yelling at once; Shacklebolt with the predictable 'now wait just a minute', and Tonks equally predictable with the 'where the hell have you been'. He didn't let them talk for very long before gesturing, magically silencing them both, so he could speak.

"Next time you ask a question, listen for the answer." Harry reached into his robe and pulled out a stone jar with a lid on it. "Do you know what this is? This is a solicitor's pensieve. It is used to preserve and display memories to be used as evidence in court. It cannot be subverted without leaving signs of tampering. I will use it to present evidence to Madame Amelia Bones of the assault."

Anyone watching would have said that Harry's voice dropped the temperature in the room to below freezing. "It is quite simple, really, Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror Nymphadora Tonks," looking at them each in turn. "I know the exact wording of the oath of office you took when you became aurors. You broke that oath by joining the Order of the Phoenix. You have a choice to make. You can do your job, right now, and obey your oath of office. Or, I can call Madame Bones, you can both be arrested and exposed as the subversive underground movement that you are, lose your jobs and any hope of getting another, and face charges of treason and being accessories to assault and battery.

"Please do not make the mistake of thinking this is a bluff. You may have ten seconds to decide." He waved to release them from the silencing spell, and waved again to release Snape from his spot on the wall, dropping him in a heap.

Grunting with the unceremonious impact, Snape said from the floor, "I'm not finished with you, Potter; we'll finish our business!" He was spitting the words so hard that little flecks of foam had formed at his lips.

Harry answered, "Good, that would be lovely. When you get out of Azkaban, you come right 'round and we'll have a nice little chat. Bye bye now," Harry waggled his fingers. "Bye bye."

"Professor Snape, you will have to come with us," said Shacklebolt. "Come along, there's a good chap, we'll get this all sorted out." He took Snape's arm and began to lead him out of the room.

Shacklebolt stopped in his tracks when Harry spoke again. "DMLE Code, Section 3.2.4, Paragraph b: _Detainees under suspicion or investigation of a violent crime shall be restrained through use of manacles during any or all transport or transfer, regardless of exhibited demeanor._"

Tonks just stopped and looked at him, having no idea what to say. Shacklebolt pulled out the anti-apparation manacles and buckled Snape's hands in front of him. Hanging a portkey on a lanyard around Snape's neck, the two of them disappeared. Tonks asked for Snape's wand and received it from Dumbledore, before portkeying herself out as well.

"You have until the end of November to find a replacement headmaster and resign. After that, I'm going public, and it's going to get very ugly. Legally... publicly... messily... ugly." The chilly tone of Harry's voice brought weight to his words. "I'll have no more truck with you, or with this office. I'm scraping your shit off my shoes." He turned and started walking to the door.

"Oh, and Professor McGonagall, could we meet tomorrow to work out a schedule for me? I'd like to spend some time getting back together with a few friends."

Seeing that both Dumbledore and McGonagall were dumbstruck, he stepped out without hearing a reply, closing the door softly behind him.

/\

Walking toward Gryffindor tower, Harry had time to reflect on his little show. _That went about as well as I'd hoped. This one's going to be harder, though._ Rigidly keeping his mind 'apart', in his detached state, he continued his long walk to the tower, until he stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, who spoke to him.

"Good evening, Mr... Potter, isn't it? Looks like you've been eating well. Nice to see you looking so big and strong, young man. Shame about the leg."

Bowing as well as his gimpy leg would allow, Harry replied, "Thank you, and a good evening to you, madam. The password is..." he ruminated, pretending to try to remember, while he was actually scrying the ward work on the door. "The password is 'gillyweed'." The portrait swung open, and Harry stepped into the common room.

He stood in the doorway, not saying a word; just soaking in the feel of being back in the room he used to call home above all other places in the world. Having been gone for nearly six months, and having learned more in that time than others could in a very long lifetime, he would have felt very little other than a slight nostalgia - had he been permitting himself to wallow in emotion.

As he expected, the moment he was spotted, the occupants of the room exploded into cacophony, all shouting and demanding things from him at once. Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Alicia, Parvati... _Madness, this is. Almost every one of them is demanding something from me._

Where have you been? Why didn't you write? Why were you late for school? What's with Snape? Who do you think you are? Why do you have that cold look on your face? What-

Harry just stood there, not saying a word. It wasn't as if anyone would have heard him speak anyway, with the yammering of twenty or so mouths. He glanced back and forth, trying to look at whoever was speaking, but they were all speaking at once. Neville Longbottom walked up, pushed his way silently through the crowd, looked Harry in the eye and extended his hand to welcome Harry back, a smile on his face. He mouthed, "welcome back" in the noise, and then stepped away again.

Harry had planned on just waiting for the whole thing to run out of steam, hoping that eventually they would run out of breath and let him answer. But it was becoming clear that it wasn't going to happen that way. He gathered some magic and molded it around his voice to give it strength without shouting, targeted only at those who were shouting.

"Shut up."

The gaggle of noisy students was stunned for a short moment; stunned that Harry would talk to them like that, and even more so that they had each felt his voice vibrate within their bodies. Then they all started right back in, all at once.

"What the bloody hell-"

"How did you-"

"How could you-"

_It wasn't enough, _Harry could see. _Okay, we'll play rough._ He put more power into it. Still not raising his voice, but raising his magic until it blew his cloak around a little, he said it again.

"Shut up."

This time, it was so strong that it made their bones vibrate, and rattled in their teeth like someone had grabbed them and shaken them.

"Just shut up. Why would you bother asking questions and then not listen for the answer? You claim to be my friends, but you don't back it up with your actions." He paused for effect, then spoke slowly. "Every single one of you shouters has stabbed me in the back."

_That got their attention. I'm tired of taking their crap, and I'm not going to go hide and cry anymore._ He turned and looked at their faces, staring hard, letting them see just a little bit of what they had done. "Parvati. Alicia. Seamus. Dean. Ron. Hermione. Every single one of you has betrayed me. Some of you more than once, whenever the newspaper tells you to. All of you know who I am, where I come from, and what I stand for. Tell me why I should trust you, or even speak to you." Adding magic resonance for emphasis, he said, "Go ahead, tell me - I dare you."

Not one of them said a word, and not one of them could look at him. "Why, when you claim to be my friends, do you automatically assume I have done something wrong, again and again? No reason to leave? I had _every_ reason to leave, and still do."

Investigating a mental tingle in his perimeter, he noticed that McGonagall was standing outside the portrait, listening. He looked around the group again. "Why is this the first time that Hermione didn't welcome me back to school with a hug?" She just stared at her shoes, shaking.

"Why, after I spent all last year tutoring and teaching you to defend yourselves on my own time, do you believe that I don't care? Why was Hermione the only one to write me a letter in the last six months? Why was Ginny the only one to actually welcome me back in the Great Hall, and Neville the only one in the common room?"

Now all the girls except Ginny were sniffling and beginning to cry, and the boys except Neville were shuffling their feet. Neville looked at him, nodding.

"Why did nobody bother to ask why I'm _crippled_ and walking with a crutch? Why did nobody wonder why I didn't bring any luggage? And why does everybody get so upset when I ask why?" _Now for the hard part,_ Harry thought.

"I know the answer to all of these questions. It's because you don't really give two fat pink _FUCKS_ about me." Almost as one, they all jumped, having never heard Harry use language like that before. "Gryffindors are supposed to be known for their bravery. Real bravery, not just being loud and pushy. You craven little children have thought about no one except yourselves. Every one of you has used me as either a tool to get what you want or a cuddly little toy that makes you feel good about yourself.

"Here's a little public service announcement: you don't own me. I don't belong to you, I belong to me."

Knowing he had the full attention of every person in the room, he used it for full effect. He held out his left hand and conjured a very large, heavy leather-bound book. "This is an English dictionary. It gives the accepted and official definitions of words for their use in everyday life." He dropped it to the floor, where it made a very loud thud in the heavy silence. "Look up the word 'friend' and grow a little shame, because you arse-clowns don't have a bloody clue what the word even means."

Looking at the only two students to treat him like a human being the entire evening, he said, "Ginny, Neville, thank you both for making me feel welcome. Good night and sleep well, my friends."

Ginny blushed, and whispered, "Good night, Harry." Neville just nodded gravely.

Harry turned and left, back out through the portrait door. He would not be sleeping in the dorm room this night. Before he even saw her behind the door, he said, "Good evening, Professor."

"Mr. Potter," she nodded, her hands folded before her. Harry regarded her, careful not to upset her; he could see that she was obviously distraught. "You have given us all... given me many things to think about tonight. To many of us, this challenges everything we held as true." She pursed her lips; this was very hard for her. "I know I have no right to ask, but would you be willing to help me to understand some things?"

"Certainly, Professor. Would after breakfast be a good time for you? Say, about nine o'clock in your office?" She nodded. "Good. Thank you, Professor. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll retire to my own home for the night." He bowed, respectfully, and transported himself discreetly to his home.

Professor McGonagall watched, agog, as Harry's physical presence dispersed like wisps of smoke until he was no more. The wards didn't make a peep.


	9. Chapter 9  Caring and sharing

A/N: Thanks to all for reading, and for reviewing. Yes, I even welcome the reviews that contain criticism, so long as it is offered in good spirits.

On the other site, there were those who thought I was too hard on Malfoy. Tough cheese! I'm going to put the little blighter through the blender. I can't stand him.

/\

Chapter 9 - Caring and sharing

The next morning, Harry sat in the Great Hall. The breakfast meal period on Saturday always had an extra hour, to accommodate those who liked to take advantage of the day off to sleep in a little. As a result, Saturday mornings the crowd was spread out more, and there was more elbow room. He had a section of the long Gryffindor table to himself. He had finished his breakfast and his coffee, and had just stepped away from the table. He had his shrunken Firebolt in his pocket; and planned on meeting with his Head of House, and then spending the morning flying.

"Well, take a look, boys! If it isn't ol' Scar-Head." Harry sighed. There wasn't a single student in the school who didn't know that voice belonged to Draco Malfoy, no matter what the words were. He turned to face Malfoy, seeing his ever-present cohorts, Crabbe and Goyle, flanking him.

"Living up to your name again, I see." A part of Harry's mind was pleased with his detachment. A year earlier, and he would have been nearly apoplectic, unable to think clearly, and would have embarrassed himself. _This is going to be my easiest confrontation this week._

"Of course, why not? I have a name to be proud of," answered the smug boy, swaggering and grinning.

"Ah... I see you don't understand. Let me help you, Malfoy. A very old name, from the Norman - that's very old French - _mal fois_, meaning 'bad time'." He could see that the blond hadn't known that. "Fitting, don't you think? Whenever a Malfoy is in the room, someone is having a bad time?"

"Get him!" growled Malfoy - or at least that's what he tried to say, reaching for his wand at the same time the two thugs began to move forward. He never got to finish the words or the movement.

Harry, conversely, had already moved - too fast to see. He punched out with both hands, catching both the conveniently-positioned sidekicks upon the points of their chins. They lost consciousness before they even began to fall, their jaws broken. Soon enough after as to make little difference, his left leg had kicked out to Malfoy himself, nailing him in the goolies. Malfoy would have been squealing in the fetal position, save that it was impossible for someone being dangled upside-down by one leg.

Hanging head-down, Malfoy was in a superb position for seeing, at close range, exactly how effective his bodyguards were being at the moment - which is to say, none at all. Harry was holding him off the floor by one ankle, using only one hand.

"I appears as if Mr. Bad Time has difficulty learning from life experience," Harry said to him. "Let's find out for sure, shall we?" The only sound Malfoy could make was a strangled, gurgling-mewling squeal. The pain from his crotch having usurped his capacity for speech, he found himself needing all of his concentration to keep from vomiting. "You must be a very caring, sharing sort of bloke, I think. Always looking for ways to be a part of my life. I think I understand, now. You just want to be around me, to know what my life is like.

"This is what my life has been like, Draco. Until now, sixteen years of pain, without let-up. Sixteen years of helplessness. Sixteen years of 'not fair'. While you whined like the spoiled little bitch that you are when your porridge was too cold, I got broken limbs for daring to ask permission to go take a shit." Harry reached with his free hand and twisted an arm, breaking it at the elbow. Malfoy let loose a piteous, squalling scream. "I got black eyes to match the scar on my head, and punches to the stomach when I cried for being hungry." Harry punched the upside-down Malfoy in the gut, causing the crying rich boy to throw up all over the floor.

Harry turned Malfoy right side up so he wouldn't drown, and continued to hold him off the floor with one hand - this time, bunched in the arrogant young wizard's robes. He was still talking in a normal, calm tone of voice; as if talking about the weather, or asking a shopkeeper what was on sale.

"Every time you have attempted to bully me, Malfoy, you have gotten hurt or embarrassed. Right?" When no answer was forthcoming, Harry punched him in the side of the head. "Pay attention, arse-wipe. Every single time, you've either walked away red in the face, or had your arse handed to you." Another crushing punch, breaking a cheekbone. "And every time, you've said the same kind of thing. 'Just you wait, Potter!'" Punch. " 'The Dark Lord will get you, Potter!' " Punch. " 'I'll get you next time, Potter!' " Punch. " 'You can't hide behind mudbloods forever, Potter!' " Punch. "You reek of the stench of stupidity, Mr. Malfoy. Your petty, spoiled, childish little brainlet hasn't figured out yet that you're not strong enough to be the bully." Punch. "Not good enough." Punch. "Not smart enough." Punch. There was little remaining intact on the face of the once-handsome young man; what wasn't bleeding had collapsed.

"Now that your face is hamburger pulp, you're covered in your own puke, and your rather unimpressive wedding tackle has just been rendered even more ineffectual than it already was, I want you to listen very carefully. I'll try to explain in small words. Are you listening, ferret-boy?" He shook the barely-conscious Malfoy with one hand, rattling him about like a doll, dripping blood, snot and vomit on the floor. "Good." Harry allowed some magic to pool behind his eyes. "Leave me alone. Leave my friends alone. Leave everyone alone. Do not ever speak in my presence. If I ever hear your voice within range of my hearing, even so much as a whisper, ever, at any time, for the rest of your life, here or anywhere else... there will be nothing left of you but a shit-stain on the ground for the house elves to scrape up and mail to your mother."

Casually flipping his wrist around, Harry flung Malfoy all the way across the Great Hall and into the stone wall, where he fell to the ground in a broken heap fifty-three feet away.

/\

Eleven minutes later at nine o'clock, Harry was standing outside Professor McGonagall's office door, having knocked and determined that she wasn't there.

Thirty minutes after that at nine-thirty, she appeared at the end of the hall moving toward her office, where Harry was still waiting. He was seated on a rather comfortable wing-back chair, his staff leaning against the wall, leafing through a book at a rate of a page every few seconds.

Seeing her, he stood, put the book away inside his robes, took up his staff and vanished the chair. Minerva noted that he wasn't standing belligerently, or repentantly, or timidly, or even indifferently. He was just standing, no emotion showing at all, as if he could wait thus until the end of the universe.

_She's afraid,_ realized Harry. _She saw what I did in the Great Hall, and she's terrified that I'll get violent with her._

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall." He bowed slightly, knowing that she was of the old 'upright' upbringing and would understand it. "It really is very nice to see you again."

She stopped in front of him, just out of arm's reach. _She's trying to hide it, but she's worried now._ "Please don't worry, Professor. You have no reason to fear me."

She drew herself up, almost haughty, saying, "It has been a very long time since a sixteen-year-old boy caused me to fear, Mr. Potter." _Nice one, Minerva. You don't actually deny being afraid, but you make it look as if you deny it._ She kept up the pretense until, having opened her door, she had seen them both seated by the fire in her office.

They both looked into the fire for a few moments on the cold November morning - she searching for a way to begin, and he giving her the few moments she needed to collect her thoughts. After a bit, she sighed and began.

"Mr. Potter, I'm afraid I just have no idea what to do with you." Her look took any sting out of the words that may have been there.

Harry could tell that her emotional side desperately wanted to light right into him at top volume for what he'd done to Malfoy. Her teacher side wanted to punish or report him. But he could also tell that her intellectual side was acknowledging the only effective way of dealing with a schoolyard bully. The level of conflict within her was so high that she didn't trust herself to give voice to any of those sides. Not yet, at least.

He looked at her and said, "Will you please call me Harry?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Potter; it won't do. I cannot be seen to be partial to any student, no matter how much I may wish. Favoritism, or unequal treatment, just won't do; any more than any other injustice."

Harry sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "Has Dumbledore told you the rest of the prophesy concerning me and Voldemort?"

"No," she said, quietly.

Harry recited it to her, word for word - the words that were burned into his soul - with no emotion, no inflection, no emphasis.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

It didn't take long. When he finished, she was still looking into the fire, saying nothing.

"Now, wouldn't you say that's pretty flagrant unfair treatment? Which part of that prophesy contains the much-vaunted justice you seek?" He paused, giving her time to answer, but she did not so much as blink.

"Last June, the last day of school, emotions came the closest yet of all the things that have nearly killed me. Do you know why I'm alive?" He heard her breath catch, stopping herself from gasping at the last second. "I spent the first three days of my summer holiday lying in a puddle of my own blood and urine, unable to move, unable to call for help, and unable to think of anything but pain. Then I spent another week in bed, being fed potions by a house elf because I couldn't trust the healers.

"Tea?" he asked, waving his hand. A small table with a complete tea service appeared. "Please, help yourself. Do you know how many times I have been subjected to the _Cruciatus_ curse, Professor?" He saw her flinch. "Including from Voldemort himself?" Another flinch. "Why am I still sane, while Neville's parents endure as vegetables in St. Mungo's?"

He was speaking as gently as he knew how, very quietly, almost mumbling. "I'm not asking this to make you feel bad, Professor; but to make you actually think of the answer. Why are Neville's parents in the booby-hatch, while I remain functional? The simple fact of the matter is that, in general, wizards and witches don't know what real pain is, or how to handle it."

She perked up at that. "Now just a moment, Mr. Potter; I cannot agree. How can you mean that? With all of the painful things you have seen in our world, how can you say such a thing?"

Harry replied, still gently, "I'll tell you how I can say such a thing. The _Cruciatus_ curse is not the worst pain I have felt."

He could see her eyes widen, though she was still watching the fire. "When a wizard is injured," he said, "he gets magical pain potions to lessen the effect. He gets magical healing potions to make the most horrific maiming simply 'go away'. The first thing Madam Pomfrey does, the first thing 's does, is to drug you or spell you to sleep so the poor wizard or witch doesn't have to suffer through all that nastiness.

"Professor, when you accidentally burn your hand, it hurts. So what do you do?"

"Put a healing poultice on it, perhaps some numbing salve if I have such around," she answered.

"And you do so immediately, as anyone would, because it hurts like... well, like being burned. Right?" She nodded, confused. "So, imagine that pain coming. And then think about the sure and certain knowledge that it isn't going to go away. That burned hand is going to hurt like a burned hand, twenty-four hours a day, for several days, and the pain will not be completely gone for at least two weeks."

Her face slowly fell slack, as the full horror of what she was hearing settled in. "Then... well, what do muggles do when they get burned?"

"They spray it with antibiotics to prevent infection, cover it with cloth, accept the pain as part of life, and get on with things. There are drugs for some kinds of pain like headaches and sprains, but almost none of them work for burn pain."

"But that's... that's barbaric! You mean to tell me that there are millions of muggles who feel pain like this and just try to ignore it?" Her eyes were as wide as Harry had ever seen.

"Professor, doesn't _anyone_ ever bother to find out about muggles? There are six _billion_ muggles on Earth. Billion, with a 'b'. Six billion living, thinking, breathing, feeling people who go through life knowing that if their leg gets pulled off, they don't get to just stick it back on. People for whom a two-week stint of pain for a hand burn is no big deal, just another painful fact of life."

He let her ponder this, knowing the new ideas would take a moment to percolate in. Especially since McGonagall was an older woman, and rather set in her ideas. Perfectly normal and predictable for senior members of any society.

"Just a moment ago, I almost said that burn pain hurts like income tax. But that would not have given you a frame of reference, because your income tax is less than one percent - it doesn't hurt. Most productive muggles have one-third to one-half of their earnings taken from them by force, by their governments.

"So to continue, wizards don't like pain, will go to any length to keep from having to feel it, and have no idea how to handle it. Muggle broken arms aren't healed in two days like mine was in second year. Depending on what kind of break, they feel the pain of a broken arm for six _months_." She was looking at him in horror, her mouth silently forming the words 'six months'.

"Mr. Potter, what does this have to do with... well, with..."

"With you calling me 'Harry'?" He walked in front of her, between her gaze and the fire. Grasping his raiment in both hands, he pulled and tore the covering from his upper body. Her eyes widened in horror as his scars were exposed. Dozens of livid scars against his pale hide; large, small, deep, wide... showing exactly the kind of skin one would expect on the body of a boy who had been flogged without mercy for 16 years, with any object that came to the sadistic hand of a psychotic Dursley.

"It's unfair that, in the eleven years before I came to Hogwarts, before you even met me, I had twenty-three bones broken. It's unfair that I'm the one who has to fend off that slobbering madman, Voldemort. It's unfair that Dumbledore sentenced me to a lifetime of physical and mental torture. It's unfair that the world calls me an unbalanced glory-hound when I try to warn them.

"It's unfair that the head of the 'house of the brave' is afraid to be seen to love good and hate evil. And it's unfair that the only adult within reach to show any sign of caring what happens to me is afraid to be my friend."

Harry's voice took on the ring of command. Not loud, just with a timbre of strength. "Professor, I'm sick to death of 'fairness' and false 'justice'. I shall now concern myself only with what is right, and what is not. Where do you stand?"

McGonagall looked at him for some time, before one corner of her mouth raised in amusement. "Very well, Mr... Very well, Harry. That was quite a little speech. Did you have it prepared, or was it extemporaneous?"

"The content has been in preparation for six months. The words were new today."

"And is there a name for this new kind of thinking? This rejection... rejection of things most would hold sacred?"

"It's called 'critical thinking', Professor. It is the basis of the Scientific Method, and has been around since before Archimedes," Harry replied. "The easiest way to consider it is this; accept nothing. Question everything. _Especially_ the 'known'."

"In less than twenty-four hours, Harry, you have rocked much of my world back on its heels. You have frightened many people, and shamed some, and destroyed the lives of some. Is this your plan?"

"Only the dishonest fear truth." He paused, then continued when he saw her nod. "Professor, everything I have said and done since my return to school last night follows reason - yes, including my public destruction of Malfoy. There was a carefully determined rationale and purpose behind everything I have said and done.

"I have recently realized that I cannot expect to react as a child, unreasoning, subject to the dictates of emotion, and expect to continue to live."

He turned away from her, waving his hand to conjure a clean set of robes with which to cover himself. "Now, here's what I'd like to do..."

/\

By the midday meal, Harry was back in the Great Hall, having a lunch that was prepared by Dobby. Dobby said he didn't trust anybody else to cook for Harry, and Harry was inclined to agree. There were certainly still people in the castle who wished him ill - perhaps more than before, he reckoned solemnly.

He had gained everything he had asked for. He was taking only one class: Defense Against the Dark Arts, which would start Monday for him. McGonagall had cautioned him that it was likely that the new professor would be quizzing him to find out where he stood in learning. Harry was fine with that, and intended to insert himself as assistant teacher, but felt no need to tell her that.

More importantly, he had the sanction of his head of house, the Deputy Headmistress, to hold his training classes in the Room of Requirement three times a week. Tuesday and Thursday evenings for four hours, and Sunday afternoons for five hours, Harry would be in that room, ready to instruct and help anybody who was interested in defending themselves against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. _Merlin, it sounds like a low-rent punk band. 'Voldemort and the Death Eaters'. It's laughably pathetic,_ he mused. _I don't know what sounds goofier; that or 'SPEW'._

At the beginning of the meal, Harry had sat alone at the end of the Gryffindor table furthest from the staff. Neville came in rather early, asking, "Do you mind if we sit with you, Harry?"

"Please do, Neville. Who's we? Ah... go ahead and tell Ginny she can come over too."

Neville waved to Ginny behind Harry, who came over and joined them. Harry could tell from the way they sat that both were hoping to get something going, but neither was ready to just say it yet. Hoping to get the conversation started on a positive note, Harry said, "So. What did you guys do this morning? Anything fun?"

Neville's eyes got wide, and Ginny's ears turned a little red at the tips. "Nothing as fun as that, Harry," Ginny said. "Neville was giving me some pointers on my Herbology. I have the OWL this year, and everybody knows he's the best herbologist in Gryffindor."

Harry chatted with them about how their school year had gone so far, when the procession began. In ones and twos, the Gryffs from the night before were coming in to lunch, seeing Harry there, and came over to apologize. Almost all of them were tongue-tied, stumbling through their apology like it was the hardest thing they'd ever had to do. For some of them, it may well have been.

Harry's answer to all was the same. "Thank you. If you'll come to the Room of Requirement tomorrow afternoon at two, I'm going to tell a story. Tell everybody to come."

He also stopped at the other house tables, chatting with some of the students, telling them the same thing. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and even some of the Slytherins. "If you really want to know what's going on, come on by. I'll provide some snacks and drinks, tell the story, and we can have a little chat."

Hermione was the last to try to approach him. She was waiting for him in the hall, wringing her hands, and started crying as soon as she saw him, unable to even speak coherently. Harry took her by the elbow and led her outside. Since there were no classes on Saturday, they weren't the only ones out of doors on the cold November day.

He conjured a cloak for her, and drew his own close about him, silently casting warming charms on them both. They walked without speaking for a few moments, toward the lake. The world was grey around them; the winter overcast and making things look very drab. The air was cold and still, presaging a snowfall.

Harry waited. Hermione's betrayal had been the hardest to bear. Before he left the platform the previous June, he had been pretty sure he was in love with her. Now, he wasn't at all sure. In fact, with all that he had learned in the last six months, Hermione Granger's much-lauded intelligence was very much in doubt. Her next few words would determine what their relationship would be - or even if there would be one.

Finally, she had gotten her tears under control, and she sat on the soggy grass, sniffing. Even though perhaps the kinder thing to do would be to help her along, Harry knew it wasn't the _right_ thing to do. So he just waited, looking at her.

"Harry... why don't you say something?" she asked.

Harry didn't say a word, but raised an eyebrow pointedly.

"Okay, then... can you tell me just what is so wrong with me telling you to talk to Dumbledore? Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time? Why is my trying to get you to listen a betrayal?"

Harry let slam the doors of his face, quelling both anger and disappointment. "Your arrogance is blinding you. Still, even after all that you have heard, you refuse to admit even the barest possibility that you may have cocked things up. After all that, you would still sit here and dare to make any of this my fault? You are a consummate blame shifter, Hermione. You are still reacting, instead of thinking. Your histrionic tears do not absolve you, they condemn you - they are as false as your words."

Hermione's face screwed up and started leaking again, her head shaking. "No, Harry, I really-"

"Stop. You didn't come to see me to open your heart and seek forgiveness. You came pretending to open your heart, and then attacked my character, in hopes that you could feel better about your betrayal. "

"How could you say that?" she wailed. "I just wanted to... I have always been..." and she trailed off.

"Always been what? Always been in the running for the Olympic gold medal in 'high-jump-to-the-wrong-conclusion'? You didn't even ask me any real questions; just accusations disguised as questions. You are still lying to yourself. You are not ready.

"Come to the Room of Requirement at two tomorrow afternoon. Or not. Up to you." With that, Harry walked away.


	10. Chapter 10  The DA is dead

Chapter 10 - The DA is dead; long live the DA!

Sunday

Harry stood with Dobby in a corner of the Room of Requirement, hidden from the view of anyone except each other. "Master Harry, do you think they will listen?"

Harry rubbed his chin. "Some of them will listen, my friend. Some of them will think it's all twaddle, and leave. But the biggest group is probably made up of those who don't know what to think, and have come to find out."

Dobby nodded. His language skills had improved by leaps and bounds under Harry's tutelage. But even though he sounded much more intelligent and mature, he still regarded Harry Potter as a mythical figure. Probably because Harry was the first wizard to actually free an elf in living memory.

"Is the food ready, Dobby?"

"Yes, Master Harry. It has preservation charms, and shall be ready when you say."

"Very well," Harry said. "Time to start the circus."

He slowly walked up to the raised dais at the front of the room, tapping the floor with his staff at every alternate step. Utterly invisible and undetectable by muggle or magical means, he had to alter his magic to allow the sound of his steps to reach the ears of the assembly. With each step, the room got more and more quiet, as people sensed that something was happening.

Shaping the acoustics of the room, he began to speak from what sounded (to the audience) to be all directions at once. "Good afternoon. My name is Harry Potter." Thunder clapped, lightning flashed, thunder struck, and suddenly he stood in his cloak and staff before them. Startled (but not for long), the group started some scattered applause.

"For those of you in a hurry, I won't take up too much of your time." He pulled the hood of his cloak off, and looked around the room. "Some of you were here last year when we held our secret meetings for the Defense Association - the 'D.A.' for short. We got the most O-level OWLs of any class in recent times. I am going to replace it with something else."

He stood and let them murmur for a bit, knowing that their minds needed a few seconds to process what they'd heard. "That's right. The DA has served its purpose, and we're moving on to the next stage. We're not making 'Dumbledore's Army', or 'Binns' Brigade', or even 'Vector's Victors'. We're not going to march around, wear funny uniforms, spout motivational slogans, sign secret pacts, wear secret decoder rings, or any other kind of childish twaddle."

Harry could see some smiles out there among the student body. Many of them had grown up enough to think slogans and nicknames to be a bit silly.

"I'm not going to try to make Slytherin love Hufflepuff." A better laugh at that one. "I don't care if you love each other, or hate each other, or just plain don't give a damn. We won't be doing any dueling here." He raised his hand at the gasp that shot around. "We aren't going to bow to each other, we're going to fight. We're going to practice kicking arses up between shoulder blades!" A ragged cheer rose.

"When I meet up with a Death Eater, I'm not going to observe any traditions or any niceties like saluting. I'm not going to worry about a 'clean fight'. I'm going to do my damnedest to knock his dick in the dirt!"

The roar of many voices raised in unison was what Harry wanted to hear; what Hogwarts needed to hear. He could see smiles on the faces of students where only confusion had shown before.

"I don't want your promises, your allegiance, or your loyalty. I want one thing: to help the ones who want to fight the dark. Make no mistake, Voldemort's toadying little suck-ups want to kill everyone who opposes them. I will teach you how to stop them. Any questions so far?"

_Now it comes,_ thought Harry. _Come on, somebody get the guts to ask the question... ah, there it is!_ "Yes, Ernie?"

"Hi, Harry. I know everybody has questions..." there were laughs around him. "But I have only the one big one. Why can't we just learn this stuff from the teachers?"

Harry walked slowly down to Ernie MacMillan. Still speaking through his magic, he knew everyone could hear him. "Excellent question, Ernie. There are several answers to that one. One, who here thinks he or she has been trained to fight by a teacher since coming to Hogwarts?" Some scattered hands went up, including Ernie's. "Would you guys mind helping me with a little demonstration?"

He motioned them back to the dais, raised again so everyone could see. Lining them up at one end in a row, he found that he had fourteen students to volunteer. "It's important to understand that your Defense Against The Dark Arts classes haven't actually taught you how to fight against anything at all. Where I, on the other hand, have had Voldemort try to kill me six times." He waited for the gasp to die down. "I'm still here, and he's huddled down in the Lordy-Lair." This brought some giggles.

"Neville, could you give us a start? Everybody, when Neville gives the signal to go, I want you all to attack me." He watched their doubtful looks. "This is your chance, everyone," he said with a wry grin. "This is your chance to prove to the whole student body - even the whole world, if I know the Lavender Brown Network - that Harry Potter is a nuts-o glory-hound who's full of hot air." Many in the room laughed, but some others started to egg on the challengers.

"You may use any spells you wish except the Unforgivable - I don't have permission from the Ministry for those. Otherwise, any spell, hex, curse... whatever you have. You fourteen against me. Neville, whenever you wish."

Neville had no idea what was going on, and looked quite worried. "Are you sure, Harry?" Seeing his friend nod, he said in a voice that was loud but by no means sure, "Go!" All fourteen students pointed their wands and started shouting at once.

Harry watched beneath their spells, and the magical fabric being used by all. Most of them were going for a plain old stunner, but not all. Ernie was using a bone breaking hex that they had practiced in DA last year. Zabini used a bowel-loosening curse that would have made quite a smelly mess.

Harry took no action. He raised no visible shield, uttered no protection, drew no wand, and did not dodge. He stood in the path of fourteen spells, which reached him within seconds of each other. Fourteen spells that had no effect.

After that first volley, they all thought he was tricking them somehow. Now the fourteen got down to business. So many voices were calling out now that the mood was like that surrounding a muggle boxing ring. He could see they were getting frustrated; he let it go on for about thirty seconds.

Then, when he was sure everyone was watching the demonstration closely, he shouted quite loud, "_Hot!_" Fourteen hands dropped a wand, and fourteen mouths yelped in imagined pain. The match was over.

Most of them were rubbing their uninjured hands, and Zabini was eying him closely. "Nice trick, Potter. What'd you do, charm the stage?"

The murmur rolled 'round the room as the attackers picked up their wands. After just a few seconds, Harry asked them, "Why didn't I cast a shield spell while I was up there?"

They looked at each other, confused, before Ginny brightened: "Because you had already shielded yourself!"

"Yes!" he roared with a huge smile, raising his staff and waving it about. "And why was I already shielded? Come on, everybody!" Dozens of answers came back, but the gist of them all was correct. "Right! Because I knew I was going into a fight. Not a duel, a fight!"

"Was it fair?"

"No!" said most of them.

"Neither is being attacked by fourteen against one, but I'm still standing." This got very quiet. "I won't mention names, but I should be unconscious, bleeding, with broken bones, and soiling myself on the floor. I should be in the hospital wing by now, shouldn't I?"

Harry continued, walking through the crowd, gesturing with his stick. "Blaise! I've seen your spell-casting; you're no slouch. Lavender, you're quite fast on your feet... Terry, Ernie, Daphne... you all did very well in Lockhart's little dueling club. Some of you folks got Outstanding on your OWLs last year for Defense. So are you lot ready to go fight Death Eaters? No?" He looked around. "Why the hell not?"

He stumped and limped around, knocking his staff on the floor and generally intimidating everyone within sight. "I'll tell you why: because you haven't learned Defense in your Defense class!" he shouted. "I'll tell you another reason why: because Death Eaters don't duel. They fight!" This last with a shout that rattled the floor and shook the glazing in the windows, making sure he had the attention of every soul in the room. The next thing out of his mouth was quiet, ominous: "And, they fight _dirty._ Here, let me show you. Colin!" Harry spoke, turning quickly and putting the end of his walking stick to Colin's nose, backing him against a pillar. "Bang! Colin's dead. Because he wasn't ready for an attack, everybody. He didn't expect there to be unfair behavior here. Obviously, that was a mistake. Colin, where is your wand?"

Colin blushed and mumbled something very quiet. "What's that, Colin? It's hard to hear you when you're dead."

"It's in my pocket," replied Creevey. He was embarrassed, but saw Harry's smile and joined in the laughter.

"How many of you have your wand in your hand right now? What kind of defense lessons are you going to partake in without a wand?" There was general laughter. He could see that the group was beginning to relax.

"Okay, let's make a half-circle around the dais again. Smaller folks up front, taller in the back, so everybody can see. I'm going to show you something in a few moments that will change your life - something real that you can do, and not just read about."

There was quite a bit of shuffling and good-natured elbowing and shoving until everyone was satisfied that they could see him as well as possible.

"Good. Who can tell me where magic is?" He looked around, feigning inquisitiveness. Harry could see on their faces that most of the students thought they knew, so he didn't wait for an answer. "I can see that most of you think you know. I'm not going to call anyone out; this isn't about humiliating people, it's about helping my friends to learn."

He held up his wand, and cast, "Lumos", making it light.. "Is magic in the words? No." He silently caused the light to go out, and then return. "Is it in the wand? No." Harry put his wand away and, silently, lit his right index finger. _Nothing too crazy so far,_ he thought. They had all seen - or at least heard of - wandless and silent magic. _Now, to shake 'em up a little._

"Is magic in my hand? Still no, I'm afraid," he said. He placed his lit hand back by his side; but the light stayed in mid-air where he left it. Then he let it blink a few times. Now the group was looking very interested. "In the brain? In a special kind of hat or shoe? Contained by a building? No, of course not. We've all seen people do magic without a hat, and outdoors, and even seen dumb people do it. So where is it?"

He continued, "It is not in your blood, nor anything worn by you. This is why muggle science hasn't been able to isolate the gene for any detectable physical difference between muggles and wizards. Wizards can tell the difference between someone who has magic and one who doesn't, but he can't tell you _why_ one does when the other doesn't. Until now, right here, right now, and I will teach you.

"It is everywhere! Everything is magic, everything contains magic, everything is surrounded by magic. No, Dean, I'm not talking about 'The Force'." The muggle-born students laughed at that one. "If it's not in the words, then the words don't matter. Learning the words assigned to spells will help you get a passing grade here at school; it will _not_ help you in a fight with a Death Eater."

Ron looked up, screwing together his Gryffindor courage and spoke: "Harry, mate... We're not all as powerful as you are."

"Power has nothing to do with it, everybody. Everyone standing in this room can cast a _lumos_ spell. And everyone standing in this room can cast it without a wand, without words, and without gestures."

"Then why did they tell us we need a wand?" somebody yelled from the back.

Harry replied, "Good question." Some laughed. "Because the rules were made by pointless little gobshites who wanted you to admire them, so they made up garbage and spewed it by the truckload to make you think they're knowledgeable. But where's the proof?"

There was a rumbling murmur at that. Harry could see Hermione fuming, and in the back, Dumbledore and McGonagall looking troubled.

"You know something because somebody told you. How do they know? Somebody told them. If you read it in a book, that's just somebody telling you on paper. How do they know? How can you trust it?" He looked around the room. The look on everyone's faces showed that they knew he could explain it. Boy were they in for a shock. "Easy: _you can't!_" Hermione was fit to be tied; he had just yanked the rug out from under her entire existence. But she didn't dare speak a word; the crowd would eat her alive the mood they were in right then.

"You can't trust any of it! Something is either true or it isn't. Baseless assertions are _neither_ true nor false until they are supported; either by fact, or reason, or visible proof. _Proof!_ There are people in this very building, right this minute, who think that blood purity makes you a better witch or wizard. Even after last year, when five teenage muggle-borns like Hermione Granger and half-bloods like Harry Potter beat twelve full-grown, experienced, pure-blooded, paramilitary terrorist Death Eaters in the basement of the Ministry of Magic! In full view of the minister himself."

Cho elbowed her way up to the front, gaining her a few curious glances and a few angry ones. "Ha... Harry?" She tentatively raised her hand. Seeing him nod, she said, "Then why do they make us spend all this time memorizing Latin words for every spell?"

"Did everyone hear that at the back? Cho asked, 'why do they make us spend all this time memorizing Latin words for everything?'. And an excellent question, too; worthy of a Ravenclaw." Cho looked down with a grin, and would have blushed, if her olive skin had allowed it.

Harry spoke louder. "There are two reasons. One, because it's a lot easier to grade somebody for effort if you can count their Latin words; and Latin has been the accepted language of learning in the world for many centuries." Everybody nodded, looking at each other, knowing that even some muggle universities required Latin vocab. That was when Harry's voice got cold. "Two, because there are some who enjoy pretending to teach you, while making sure you don't spend any time at all on what's important."

It was Hermione's turn to butt in; this time in outrage. "How can you say that we're not learning anything important? Hogwarts is the most prestigious and respected magical school in the world, and it's normal for some to be able to get..." She stopped when she realized not all the faces looking at her were wearing friendly expressions.

"Able to get what, Hermione?" Harry asked, gently. Not because she was right, but because she was only voicing what many of them thought. "Normal for some to be able to get more out of an expensive education like this than others?" He raised his voice again, and raised his hand. "How many of you think Hogwarts is the best school there is?" Almost every hand went up with his. "Good, thank you. Now, if you have been a student in another magical school, keep your hand up; otherwise, put it down." All but two hands went down; Harry's own, and that of McGonagall, who he noticed was still standing in the back.

"Then why do you think we're the best? What is the yardstick?" Harry asked.

Colin Creevey's enthusiasm and school spirit would not be held back. "But, Harry, everybody knows that Hogwarts is number one, then Beauxbatons, and then Durmstrang. Right?"

Harry used this. "Beauxbatons is better than Durmstrang?"

"Yes!" came a disgruntled group reply, as if any First Year student should know this.

"And you're all absolutely sure?"

"Yes!" The reply was much stronger.

"Well, then... let me make sure I have this right... I should take the word of any one of you on this subject... because any one of you will tell me that... something you have never seen... is... slightly less good than something _else_... you have never seen."

_Talk about a deafening silence,_ thought Harry. It was palpable, and would rapidly grow to embarrassment and then to anger if not stopped.

"Don't worry, my friends. This is an example of what I was talking about. You are just taking the word of somebody who told you this, I'm sure. But I have a pretty strong hunch that no Hogwarts staff members are spreading nasty rumors about other schools." There was relieved laughter, because now everybody could blame some imaginary 'kids' who 'told them' stuff.

"Listen up, everybody," he called, clapping his hands. "The stuff I was just showing you? Wandless, wordless, and no hands? I'm going to show you how to do it. You're going to learn how to do things that will drive your teachers crazy-eight bonkers, because they don't know how to do it - and we're going to start by learning that spiffing thunder-and-lightning you saw when I showed up. We'll meet Tuesday and Thursday evenings after dinner, and Sunday afternoons. I will be here for four hours each time - longer, if somebody needs me. Feel free to come as long or as short as you need. I will teach anyone who shows up willing to learn, and will eject anyone being disruptive.

"There's a great big pile of food over there in the back; help yourselves. Talk about what you have seen this afternoon; I hope to hear some very good questions from some of you. Good day."

/\

A/N2: There will always be whiners in the world who would rather bitch and moan about things being "wrong" without actually specifying how or why. (Right, Dahasmaga?) If you "really hate it when..." something in a story pushes your buttons, and you keep reading anyway, then either it didn't bother you that much after all, or you deserve everything you get.


	11. Chapter 11  DADA, Oh Mama!

A/N: Thanks as always to all who read, and especially to those who reviewed.

/\

Chapter 11 - DADA, Oh Mama!

Monday, November 4, 1996

Harry had left the first brigade meeting, because he knew it wasn't really a training session in the first place. The first meeting was to satisfy the curiosity of some folks, and to get them thinking about what they wanted to do. Did they want to fight to protect themselves? Did they want to run and hide? Did they want to attack people for the Dark?

Likewise, he had not hung around the common room either. Not because he was shunning anybody, but because he wanted to give them time to come up with questions and ideas on their own. He didn't want to be King of Magic, and he wasn't about to put himself in a position where people starting thinking of him as such. He was also not willing to be heralded as the new sheriff in town, taking responsibility for protecting the whole wizarding world. _Utter bull,_ thought Harry. _They all need to stop crying for help and pick up a rock._

Sitting at the Gryffindor table that morning, he made small talk with his housemates. He had double Defense that morning, and wasn't sure whether he should be looking forward to it or not. The new DADA teacher, Professor Dierdre Lipharvest, was sitting at the staff table pretending not to watch him.

Harry had always thought Dierdre was a pretty name, even though in this case he wouldn't be able to use it. She looked to be about twenty-four or -five, with fair complexion, light honey-brown hair tied into a French braid, and intense eyes. He couldn't tell from this distance what color they were, but he could definitely tell they were surreptitiously checking him out. _Dumbledore probably told her I needed taking down a peg,_ he thought. _Hmph._

Even from across the Great Hall, he could tell one more thing: she was a major looker. Under her teachers' robes, which hung open in the front in the traditional manner, she was wearing a one-piece jumpsuit, obviously built for working out. A suit that was so unforgiving in its revelations could only be supported and carried off by a body that was fit and muscular, as well as being... stacked. It did not escape Harry's notice that the suit was well-supported. And a couple other things were well-supported as well.

After his solitary training, however, there was no outward indication of his appraisal that anyone could have picked up on. The greatest legilimancer in the world would have detected absolutely no reaction at all to her arresting beauty. Finishing his coffee and putting down the paper, he stood, seeing the eyes of the entire hall upon him.

Turning to the front of the hall and flourishing his staff, he inclined his head to the new professor; a sardonic grin lifting one corner of his mouth. He didn't wait to see any reaction, but stepped lightly through the doors and into the hall, to get ready for his new class.

/\

"Good morning, class," came the rich voice of Professor Lipharvest. "As I announced last week, we are going to continue with our golem work." There was a shuffle of noise as the students got restive. "Today's shield is the _aegis_, and today's attacks are _erverbero_ and _infligo._ Line up again like we did last week, and I'll get the golems going so we can get started."

Harry was pleased that she hadn't singled him out for some kind of special attention at the beginning of class, although he was also aware that she was watching him quite closely. She was apparently trying to trip him up using spells that were not taught until sixth year, thinking that he hadn't attended and would have to ask. The class was forming into four lines, facing toward a wall where four golems stood silently. He surveyed the task.

The golems were the normal student training model; canvas skin filled with sawdust, grommet eyes, a wand-stick permanently affixed to the 'hand', and a wooden skeleton. Enchanted properly, they could move in a manner very much like that of a human, since its skeleton was the same general configuration. If it caught you, it would deliver a considerable wallop to motivate you to move the next time. Apparently, these had been upgraded to include the ability to cast a limited number of spells.

Letting go of the fifth golem, Professor Lipharvest turned back to the students. "Very well, class; this should be a good warm-up. Like last week, each of you gets ten seconds to cast. Then you shall hear me call 'next', and you'll go back to the end of your line. We'll repeat through the lines until I tell you to stop. Ready?" Most of the class nodded to her. "Begin."

Harry watched Parvati, who was first in his line. He watched her movement, her aura showing her intent, and the flavor of each spell she cast. He noticed the golems were casting the same spells as the students. The Latin words were child's play to Harry, who could now converse in Latin for hours (as well as many other languages including Urdu, Finnish, and Flemish). _Okay, 'aegis' is shield, 'erverbero' and 'infligo' mean 'to hit'. Punching spells, I imagine._ His idea was confirmed when he saw Dean Thomas connect with one, knocking the golem down.

"Next," called the teacher, and the first rank moved to the rear. There was quite a bit of friendly banter going on during the exercise, which told Harry this was a familiar start to a Monday morning.

Eventually, it was Harry's turn. He stepped up to the line and raised his wand toward the dummy, feeling slightly foolish. He had hardly used his wand at all since the late summer. "_Aegis_," he spoke, and a bright golden shield popped into place around him. The golem in front of him tried to cast a spell, but it reflected off his shield. Following up as instructed, Harry said, "_Infligo._" He hadn't said it very loud, but the golem flew to the other end of the room and split open against the far wall, spilling sawdust.

"Stop," called Lipharvest. "Mr. Potter," she said, walking - no, sashaying - over to stand in front of him. "How did you do that?" She had a light in her eyes, signifying that she really wanted to know.

"Your pardon, Professor," said Harry, bowing slightly. "My spell was a bit stronger than your golem was prepared to face."

"No, that's not what I mean, Mr. Potter. Your shield is still in place. How did you cast your bludgeoning spell at all? It's not supposed to be possible!"

He hadn't foreseen this. Even though she had not made an effort to single him out, and the class had accepted him without much comment, he had still managed to stand out. _Like a turd in the punch bowl,_ he thought. _Just like always. May as well make use of it._

"Begging your pardon, Professor, but what damn fool told you that?"

She wasn't acting, he saw. She was genuinely shocked to have seen the impossible. She couldn't have been more aghast if Harry had stepped up, twisted his left earlobe, and squirted pumpkin juice in bright orange arcs out of both nipples.

"Mr. Potter... what you just did... I don't know of anyone who was ever able to do that. I know I can't."

"Professor, with respect, as long as anyone believes they can't, they're right. They can't." Harry wasn't being disrespectful, just reporting.

"Then..." she was having trouble, and it looked like she was getting very excited. "Then could you show us how you did that?"

Harry thought for a moment. This was a chance to make a good impression. "Okay, everyone; gather around please. Do you all use visualization for your spells? No? Okay, when you cast a spell, are you just shouting words, or do you have a picture in your mind of what is going to happen?" He waited a moment, but got no reply. "Okay, I want you to try something. Everybody cast the _lumos_ spell. Just do it, right now."

He lit his own wand to set an example. Of all the wands in the room, only the professor's wasn't part of the light. Soon, the room was filled with sticks with glowing tips.

"Good. Now stop the light." He heard thirty voices whisper, '_nox_'. "Now keep your wands in the same place they're in now, and close your eyes. I want you to picture, in your mind, an imaginary event. Picture yourself casting the light spell and creating a light so bright it feels like the sun on your face. The brightest light spell you've ever done. Just imagine it... picture in your mind how bright it'll be."

Silent for about fifteen seconds, he then spoke, very quietly. "Now, keep your eyes closed, and while you keep them closed, I want you to cast the light spell again." Thirty voices strongly said, '_lumos!_'. "Now, open your eyes." The group did, and immediately tried to shut them again. The light was so bright, that it hurt.

"See? There is no special trick to it, except your own ideas. Don't just holler at the stick in your hand. See, in your mind, what you want to happen; and use what you learned to make it happen. I bet Neville can do it. Right, Nev?" He smiled at his Gryffindor roommate.

"Er... I'll give it a go, Harry."

Neville stepped up to the firing line. The rest of the students moved around to get a good view of what was going to happen. The Gryffs, because they wanted to see it; and the Slytherins because they wanted to be able to make fun of Neville if he failed.

"Right, go ahead and cast your shield, Nev," Harry instructed. Neville's _aegis_ shield appeared, quite strong. "Good. How leave it there, and close your eyes." The other boy did so. "Picture your spell going through the shield. You're not trying to make one spell overpower the other; they have nothing to do with each other. Your bludgeoner is just going to go right through, as if the shield isn't there. Ready?" Neville nodded. "Then go ahead."

"_Infligo!_" shouted Neville. His spell hit the golem solidly, raising a little sawdust to show where the blow had hit.

"Bravo!" shouted Harry, clapping. Most of the rest of the class joined in and applauded him.

Professor Lipharvest slithered over to Harry again. "Would you mind helping the rest of the class today, Mr. Potter?" she said. Her voice was positively oozing charm; and her aura was making it blazingly obvious to Harry that she intended to stay close to him - and that there was more to it.

Speaking up for the class, he announced, "Everybody else wanna give it a go?" He got a very positive reaction. The Slytherins weren't about to be shown up by a Gryffindor. And the Gryffindors were a bit stung because Neville Longbottom had shown them up. They all lined up again, going through the exercise with a new purpose.

Professor Lipharvest was quite caught up in the new skill. Instead of breaking off the drill at the end of the first period of double Defense, she had her students experimenting to see what other spells they could get through the _aegis_ shield. As it turned out, just about every student there could get a _stupefy_ spell through their own _protego_. Confidence was high, and the students of Harry's Sixth Year all showed an aptitude for it - as Harry had known they would.

"Alright, students," said Professor Lipharvest, clapping her hands. "I think we'll all agree that was a lot of fun. We have about five minutes left, so let's get ready to go. If three or four of you would be so kind as to help put away the equipment...? Ah, thank you."

She stepped over the Harry and grabbed his elbow, saying in a much lower voice, "Harry, would you mind staying around after the others leave? I'd like to have a little chat." She was looking up at him from hooded eyes, which suited Harry right down to the ground.

"Certainly, Professor," he replied. He returned to his desk to wait. He had nothing to pack, as he had brought nothing with him to the class except his wand.

The lively mood of the class stayed with everyone as they began to file out of the room. There was a little time before lunch began in the Great Hall, which gave students time to get back to their dorms and drop off the books before lunch. In short order, Harry was alone in the room with the new Defense professor.

Waving her wand, she cast locking and silencing charms on the door, to ensure they wouldn't be disturbed. Untying her thick hair and fluffing it with her hands, she walked closer to Harry - if movement that slinky could be called 'walking'. "Harry, I'm very glad you stayed," she said to him, her voice husky with what sounded like desire.

She stopped one pace from him. The nipples of her firm, round breasts were pushing out through the material of her workout uniform - a uniform that wasn't hiding much of anything. She was looking at him from under her brows again, standing with one hip shot out, as if daring him to do something. "You really are something, aren't you, young man?"

Being sixteen years old, Harry was nearly overwhelmed by what was the most overt come-on he'd ever been on the receiving end of. This incredible curvy woman, with her athletic body and honey-brown hair was within arms' reach... _and she's offering herself to me,_ he thought. Then he looked at her; really looked. And he saw. What he saw froze any thoughts of warm femaleness right from his mind, and left only coldness; with a kernel of anger and disgust at the center.

He kept his mask in place. _I need to confuse her for a moment,_ Harry thought. "Well, Professor... Dierdre," he said, watching her brighten. "You have most pleasantly wibbled my frussock-pouch, without doubt." _There, that's the confused expression I need to see on her face._ Lifting his right hand, he said, "One moment... Dierdre." He reached slowly, as if he were going to caress her face. "You seem to have something... in..." Closer to her face, until he was close enough to touch a finger to her temple. "...your mind." His touch at her temple was just the distraction he needed; it took her concentration away from herself long enough for him to do what he needed...

Forty one seconds later, Professor Lipharvest awoke. She reposed in a comfortable armchair, leaning back, with a cool wet cloth against her forehead. "Um... Mr. Potter, I'm..." she began, trying to sit forward.

Harry's hand stopped her by holding the compress against her head. "Just rest for a few more seconds, Professor. The dizziness will pass momentarily."

"But... I think..."

"Professor," began Harry. "Do you remember what we were doing just before you lost consciousness?" The beautiful teacher sat for a few seconds, brow furrowed in thought, before her visage contorted. "Oh... Mr. Potter..." her voice was quavering. He could see she was about to have a major attack of the shames.

"Before you go too far in that direction, I want you to see something. Look here, please," he said. When she looked up, he moved his hand to cause a color hologram appear. It was a perfect likeness of her head, complete with the aura precisely as he had seen it. Pointing to a pale yellow speck behind the left ear of the floating head, he asked, "Do you see this? This little speck of yellow light here?" He waited for her nod before continuing.

"This yellow speck is the only external indication of the geas that was laid upon you, Professor."

He saw her eyes widen. "A geas?"

"It's a very old kind of magic, used by Celtic Druids before the time of the Romans. It's a compulsion charm, Professor." She gasped and tried to get up again, obviously about to speak - but was stopped again by Harry's hand. "Please don't get up for a few more moments. You really do need to hear the rest of this."

Harry continued. "It's much older than the Imperius. I didn't know it was a geas at first; I just knew it was something that didn't belong. I traced it through your aura, like this." He gestured, and the hologram zoomed in until the point of view had entered the brain. Within, there was a larger yellow blotch, about the size of a British one-pound coin. "But that's not all, look here," he said. Just below the pale yellow blotch was an irregular purple spot.

"What is that?" she asked.

"That, dear Professor, is a memory charm. You have been very skillfully mind-diddled."

"But, who would do such a thing to me? I haven't been here long enough to make any enemies!" She was quite earnest, but the worst for her was yet to come.

Harry waved his hand and the floating head image disappeared; replaced by some floating graphs and numbers. It was a graph of complicated magic, floating in front of them - not in three dimensions, but in _four_. Over time, you could observe the movement of the parts; time being the fourth dimension of measurement. He carefully pointed out each point in the calculation, and explained to her how each part related to each other part. With each part, her expression lost a little shame and gained a lot of plain old righteous indignation.

"That... that's just wrong!"

"I know, Professor. That's the kind of wrong I've been dealing with for sixteen years. Will you help me to fix this situation?"

"Let me call the aurors, Mr. Potter," said the pretty teacher. He stood back and offered a hand, bringing her to stand in front of him. "Please, Harry; let me call them."


	12. Chapter 12  Hang down your head

A/N: Thanks as always to all who read, and especially to those who reviewed.

/\

Chapter 12 - Hang down your head, Tom Dooley

November 4, 1996

The lunch period had been underway for about twenty minutes when a mixed group of wizards and witches walked in through the main doors, making no attempt to be subtle. Harry and Professor Lipharvest were with four other people, who were wearing the robes of aurors. The group walked up the center of the room and stopped just before the head table.

As chance would have it, Professor McGonagall was presiding over the midday meal. She stood as the group approached. "Madame Bones, how may I help you?"

"Hello, Professor. Would you please tell Professor Dumbledore we are here to see him?" Although Amelia Bones was head of the DMLE, she had always respected Minerva McGonagall, and wanted to deal politely with her.

"Of course, I shall send for him. Could I ask what this is about?" She clasped her hands in front of her to hide her consternation - which had the opposite effect.

"I'm sorry, Minerva. It's official business; we'll have to wait for him. We can wait in the entrance hall, if that would be alright?"

The Great Hall was mostly silent, save for the rustling of clothing as students moved to get a better view.

Some minutes later, Dumbledore strode into view, looking every inch the lord of his castle. "Amelia! What a nice surprise. Would you like to come up to the-"

She wasn't having any. "Albus Dumbledore, you are under arrest for illegal use of memory charms, pandering, corruption, and using a public office for personal gain. Please come quietly."

Harry and Professor Lipharvest stood in full view of the hall and watched the color drain from Dumbledore's face. His phony, twinkle-eyed bonhomie just wasn't going to carry him through this one, and they wanted to see his destruction first-hand.

The school's newest young teacher stepped forward first. "You filthy, disgusting old pervert! You're lucky Harry was emancipated last summer. Otherwise, you'd be facing an additional charge of conspiracy to commit statutory rape." She spat - showing impressive distance and accuracy - directly onto the floor at his feet.

Harry spoke up next. "You just couldn't let it go. You just couldn't face the fact that you're wrong. You just had to keep being a control freak. But you're not talking your way out of this one. I have hard evidence which I shall present at your trial - evidence, by the way, that proves you cannot be trusted out on bail. If you're a good boy, maybe I'll let Tonks owl you a lemon drop."

Dumbledore looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for something. This did not escape Harry's notice. "No, headmaster. Fawkes and his phoenix friends only help wizards of the Light, whose motivations are true and pure. Not power-hungry old sex-fiends."

"Very well, Amelia," said Dumbledore at last. "Let's see if we can get this all straightened out, shall we?" He offered his wand to the nearest auror, and accepted the apparation manacle on his wrist before disappearing.

/\

"So you see, Professor," said Harry to McGonagall, in her office. "He hoped to find a new way to control me. He wiped Professor Lipharvest's memory, then put an ancient compulsion charm on her to get her to seduce me in the Defense classroom. Either he figured to control me by making me want to stay close to the supply of... well, the supply... or he planned on collecting evidence and using it to blackmail me."

McGonagall bent to the right and picked up the bottle of firewhiskey. Not bothering with glasses anymore, she pulled a swig straight from the bottle. Thumping the bottle down onto the desk rather ungracefully, she mumbled, "Bloody... Harry, I wish..." She trailed off.

"So do I, my friend," Harry answered quietly. "So do I."

The three had been in the office, door locked and ignoring calls, since the aurors had left with Dumbledore in custody. Professor Lipharvest leaned forward, gently taking the bottle from McGonagall's hand. "Gimme some o' that," she said. Taking hold of the potent potable, she poted a respectable-sized pote. "You know, Minerva..."

"Probably not," retorted the Deputy Headmistress. "I used to know a lot. Today... Ach! Today, I don't. I'm three-point-two ice ages old, an' I don't know a damned thing."

He took McGonagall's hand and held it in his left, atop her desk. Then he took Lipharvest's hand in his right and held it, between their chairs. "Now, now. We all know better than that. I certainly know better."

Harry wasn't drinking, but he stayed anyway - he liked the company of these two unusual women. They were both depressed and needed a friend right then; McGonagall because she'd been duped, and Lipharvest because she now thought she wasn't cute enough to succeed in seducing a young man like Harry.

"Harry, I'm a mess," said the young teacher. "Up here in my head, I mean." She poked herself in the forehead to illustrate, just in case Harry didn't know where her head was. "I was s'posed to want you. Then you cleaned my head out, and I'm not s'posed to want you, because you're a student." She nodded forcefully, banging her chin on her own chest in the process. "So why do I?"

Harry didn't say a word, and didn't look at either of them. He knew that nothing he had to say would help the two women straighten this out - they just needed to talk. To vent.

"You're such a good person, Harry," she said. And then started to cry. Hearing a sniff on his left, he looked up to see McGonagall crying too.

Harry didn't have much life experience with the comforting of crying women. Especially drunken ones. But he certainly knew a soul-ache when he saw one, and he was seeing two of them right then. Without letting go of either of their hands, he stood long enough to let his thoughts transfigure his armchair into a comfortable davenport. Then he pulled both women by their hands towards himself.

They both resisted, of course. Both embarrassed at being caught crying in front of a student. _Bloody British stiff upper lip,_ he thought. _Not allowed to ask for help when you're hurting? Bollocks._ He pulled their hands even more strongly, until they were seated on either side of him. Then he put his arms around their shoulders and pulled them in, holding them tightly. He held them both against him, making cooing noises and "there, there", until the tears stopped, and then the sniffles stopped, and he knew they were asleep.

Slipping from between them, he transfigured the davenport into a bed, changed their robes to pajamas, and tucked them both in. Waving his hand, he removed most of the alcohol from their systems to be sure they wouldn't be hung over in the morning. "Good night, ladies," he mumbled before leaving, locking the door behind him.

Standing very still in the dim hallway, looking at nothing in particular, Harry said, "Come on out, Hermione. It's alright now, they're asleep."

He heard the rustle of movement in a niche behind a nearby suit of armor. "Is she-" Hermione interrupted herself. "Are they going to be okay? They had a tough time today." She looked quite forlorn, standing alone in a dark hallway, glancing all around, not knowing where to look and afraid to look at him. Afraid of the rejection she might find on his face. Her right hand rubbed her left arm..

The fact that she had stood there in the cold, hiding in the dark because of her caring for her favorite teacher, was touching to Harry. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. "I'm sure they'll be fine; they just needed somebody to talk to. Somebody who wouldn't judge them."

His right arm was holding his staff to help him stand. He raised his left arm, to gather Hermione in for a hug. She almost dived into him, grabbing him fiercely, as if clinging to her own life. Sobbing uncontrollably, she cried, "I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Harry stood there holding her, just letting her cry into his shoulder. The third crying woman he'd held that day - in fact, the third in half an hour. _I wonder if there's a way to make a living doing this,_ he thought. _Certainly less strenuous than fighting bad guys or playing Quidditch._

"Come along, then. I'll take you back to the tower. Hold on tight." Hermione grabbed him even tighter. He turned his mind just _so_... and they were in the Gryffindor common room, without there having been any feeling of motion. It was still early in the evening, so there were a few students still around the room. Some studying, or just hanging out. Ron looked up from where he sat alone with his chessboard, not saying a word. He just nodded his approval to see her crying all over Harry; holding him so tight it was like she was trying to pass through him. The last of the old crowd had come back.

Hermione's sobs had fallen through the sniffle stage and into quiet (thought still a little moist). He lowered his lips to her ear, because what he had to say was only for her. "I have some things to say to you. I will not say them now." He pressed her against him, so she would know he meant a positive thing. "When I've done some more things that I have to do... when it's all done... when I can breathe again... I will tell you what I have to tell you. I give you my word."

She didn't make a sound, and didn't look at him. But he could feel her nod slowly against his chest. Twice, slowly, before withdrawing and moving to go up the stairs to the girls' dorm.

Harry watched her move up the stairs, trying to push her hair back into place. He wrapped his feelings in a nice, warm bundle and put them away; put them away for use on a more propitious day. His face fell once again into the emotionless visage he had shown the world this year. He put away the emotions, the vulnerabilities, the weaknesses. Put away the bright, warm thoughts that made it too hard to contemplate the dark things he had to do.

Until his face was, once more, cold iron.

Watching from his chess table corner, Ron nodded again, as if to say he approved of that too.


	13. Chapter 13  In Other Words

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, and thanks for reading. If you've enjoyed reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it, then... I had twice the fun. (!)

/\

Chapter 13 - In Other Words

November 5, 1996

"Thunder!" spake Harry Potter, and it was so. Mild thunder, just loud enough to startle, rumbled through the Room of Requirement.

"Now," he said, turning to let everyone see him. "Why did that work? Is 'thunder' a magic word? No!" He answered his own question. "The magic is not in the words. What is the thunder spell word? Anyone?"

"_Fulminis_," came the answer from Hannah.

"Correct! And what does the word '_fulminis_' mean?" Again, he continued without pausing long enough for anyone to feel uncomfortable, to to feel superior. "It means 'thunder'. Anybody here think Latin is a magical language?"

Harry looked around the room, as if truly wanting to find out. "Of course not! It's no more magical than Finnish or Portuguese or English. You just saw me cast a spell with an English word. Is it because I'm special? Of course not. It's because I have learned that the words don't matter.

"Watch this," he said, turning away from the crowd again just a little. In the same voice that he'd used to say 'thunder', he said, "Marzipan!" Immediately, mild thunder happened again - just like the first time.

"Now," Harry said, "Don't get me wrong. I like a bit of marzipan as much as the next bloke!" There was nervous laughter when the thunder happened. Many had been expecting it. "But I was thinking of thunder when I said marzipan, and willed it to happen.

"Listen up, everybody." His voice switched back to deadly-serious-mode. "The word doesn't matter. The language doesn't matter. Magic isn't in the words. Only your will matters! Like this..." he turned away again. "_Bunny slippers!_" he shouted, and the golem on the stage exploded, showering the front few rows with sawdust. While they were still processing what they'd seen, he shouted again, "Fewmets!" and the golem was repaired.

"Hey, Neville, do you know the Latin for 'light'?" he asked.

"Sure, Harry; it's 'lumos'," answered the young man with a flourish, and his wand lit.

"Hey, Hermione, do you know the French word for 'light'?" he asked.

She laughed, seeing where he was going. "Sure, Harry; it's 'lumiere'," she answered, lighting her own wand.

"_Lumiere!_" said Harry with a laugh, and his wand lit. Some more students around him began to laugh. "German?"

"_Licht!_" came some more voices, showing more lights and laughter.

"Italian?"

"_Luce!_" said someone, and it was so.

"Portuguese?"

"_Luz!_" The answers were now almost unanimous, and in unison.

"Outstanding, everyone!" Harry shouted, clapping his hands. The whole group joined in, giving themselves and each other a round of congratulatory applause. It was a few moments before the lights were extinguished.

"Okay, folks. You obviously have the idea. What spell did they teach you to use for stopping the light? 'Nox', right? Now for something a little harder." He raised his eyebrow and held up his wand.

"_Nox!_"

But instead of going out, Harry's wand lit up just like before!

"_Silencio!_" he said, the thunder rolled through the room. "Let's see you all try it. Use whatever harmless spell you want, and any word you like."

The silliness erupted all around the room. Sparks, lights, thunder, and combinations of the above were happening all over, in no particular order, while gleeful shouts of completely unrelated words rang out...

"Colin!" "Matchbox!" "Knickers!" "Boogers!"

...until the laughter was too strong to keep going.

Hermione watched Harry; watched him like a hawk. He was walking around the room with the aid of his staff. Ostensibly checking to see if anybody needed help, but something wasn't quite adding up. Then it occurred to her: only his mouth was smiling. His eyes were darting everywhere, evaluating, checking, watching. While his body acted the part of a jokester, his mind and eyes were scoping out the perimeter. Even laughing, Harry wasn't relaxed. He was busy teaching.

"Okay, everybody," he said, clapping his hands loudly. "May I have your attention? We're going to try to do one more thing before we go. Everyone?" He waited until he had their attention. "Everybody ready? Good." He absently conjured a stout stone obelisk on the dais. "When I count to three, I want you all to cast a tickle jinx at this stone. That's right," he nodded at their mumbled doubts. "Just a tickle charm, all at the same time. The word is 'Rictusempra', but you can use any word you want. Ready? One... two... three!"

The group shouted on three, pointing at the stone obelisk and casting their favorite tickling charm. Over a hundred students. Then something happened that almost none of them expected.

The huge black stone melted.

"That is strength!" announced Harry, raising a fist. "That is power!" He waited for a few seconds. "What do you think would happen if we'd all cast the cutting curse? Or the blasting curse? Think about that tonight. Put your wands and heads together, and there is _nothing_ that can stand in your way. This is something the Death Eaters will never understand, if they live to be a thousand years old. All they had to do to take over the world was to unite. They would have been the only united magical force on the planet. But that's not what they want. They each want to show off, to swagger around in their arrogance; as if each one of them is a little tin Voldy.

"If you don't learn anything else the whole time you're at Hogwarts, learn this," he said, and the room got quiet. "If there is such a thing as the 'big man on campus', it isn't any one of those arse-holes." He turned, slowly making eye contact with anyone within range, so each one could see just how serious he was.

"Dobby?" he called.

"Everything is ready, Master Harry sir," answered the elf, milliseconds after appearing at his elbow.

"Do it." Tables of refreshments appeared immediately. "That's all for today, folks. Thanks for coming. Eat up, everybody. See you all back here on Thursday?"

The class broke up. Oh, no one called it a class (at least not aloud), but a class is what it was, no matter what anyone else chose to call it. With no desks and no chalkboards and no textbooks, but there wasn't a single person in the room who didn't understand that they were there to learn, and learn hard. Harry was the most effective teacher any of them had ever known, and the most fun.

He was a natural teacher. While McGonagall taught by discipline; Harry taught by allowing them to relax. Snape taught by intimidation and prejudice; Harry taught by making people feel included. Flitwick taught by lecture; Harry taught by demonstration. Lipharvest taught by trying to be one of them; Harry taught by showing them who _they_ should try to be.

Which was why Professor Lipharvest had taken to attending his classes. She had learned more about magical theory in the month since Harry had been back at school than her entire seventh year at school. She normally started each session at the back of the crowd, trying to stay unnoticed and let the kids have fun. But several times, she had discovered herself having moved closer to the front without knowing it; wanting to be part of the wonderful thing that was going on in the Room of Requirement.

She also had to be honest with herself and admit that she was attracted to Harry. Harry had completely removed the geas, and had restored the patch of her memory that Dumbledore had tampered with, so there were no magical forces at work here - other than the normal, human magic that happens every day. The fact that he had helped her first, without question, and had vehemently shied away from the idea of taking advantage of her vulnerable state... The fact that he had the respect and admiration of everyone in this room... The fact that his green eyes were so, so...

She sighed. He was legally an adult, had a mind more mature than any 'adult' she knew, and was certainly built like an adult. But he was still a student under her care. There was no way in heaven and earth that she was going to go after him now. The world would think she was still under the compulsion, and would probably forgive her, but she would never have been able to forgive herself.

She could see, as well, that she would be in competition with about a hundred and fifty other girls. She grinned wryly; if Harry ever let down his guard, he'd end up with a harem before he could say 'Boy-who-lived'.


	14. Chapter 14  Where the Baker had

A/N: Thanks for reading!

/\

Chapter 14 - Where the Baker had met with the Snark

December 14, 1996

The rest of November had passed like a normal school month was supposed to pass. No more than the usual number of pranks, and no more than the usual amount of homework. The end of the year was approaching, and fifth and seventh year students were looking forward to a nice holiday break from their grueling studies.

The mood of the school seemed much more upbeat, and for good reason. Harry's defense class had people - students and teachers alike - optimistic about the whole Voldemort thing for the first time in a long time. Although nobody wanted the Dark Lord looming around the next corner, Harry's constant and driving can-do attitude was infectious.

Harry taught everyone in the school who wanted to learn. From the ickle firsties all the way up to Headmistress McGonagall, whom he had spied listening in on more than one meeting. The Room of Requirement was continuing to provide everything needed, including the room for the still-growing body of members.

From year to year, Hogwarts was normally home to roughly 450 students; spread out among houses and ages. This year, Harry's sixth year, his supplementary defense education class had grown to two hundred eighty-seven regular attendees, including the sporadic teacher involvement. Nearly two thirds of the entire school was learning defense from Harry - better than they ever had before.

Which was why Laura Wilkinson's first reaction was to try to defend herself.

Laura was of average height for her twelve years, and looked a bit severe for her Hufflepuff affiliation. Her hair was mid-length and glossy black. She was a muggle-born witch who loved sharing her dreams of sailing and interior design with her roommates, smiled readily, and made friends quickly. She also had a slight stutter, which was what had attracted entirely the wrong kind of attention that Saturday.

"P-p-p-puff!" cried Laura, pointing her wand and trying to use one of her 'shortcut words'. Harry had coached her on using shorter words, to give her less trouble with her stutter when trying to cast quickly. Unfortunately, her punching spell was underpowered and missed completely.

Pansy Parkinson laughed, deriving genuine entertainment from Laura's attempt. "What's the p-p-p-problem, Wilk-wilk?" she said between laughs. 'Wilk-wilk' was what some of the more cruel students called Laura, after she'd been unable to speak out her last name one day in class without stuttering. "_Petrificus_ _totalis._" In contrast, Pansy's spell was quite effective, and Laura was utterly unable to move.

"So much for Potter's classes, I'm thinking," the Slytherin princess crowed. "Can't even protect yourself from a simple Petrificus, Mudblood! Draco must be losing it..." she trailed off, tapping her wand to her chin and thinking about Malfoy's new-found fear of all things Potter. "That's okay, let's have some fun!"

Pansy took Laura's wand from her helpless hand, and stepped back. "_Finite incantatem_," she cast, releasing Laura to the floor. Followed up with a quick bludgeoning spell to the younger girl's abdomen, driving all the air from behind the youngster's traumatized solar plexus in one long, loud moan.

"Can't be having that noise, now, can we? _Silencio._ We wouldn't want to be interrupted now, when we're having so much fun." Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin Queen, got a manic look on her face at the prospect of torturing the poor first year girl. A little globule of spittle gathered at the corner of her mouth, but she didn't notice. She was utterly absorbed in anticipation of her grisly diversion, gazing in near-sexual excitement at the silent, tearful wretch on the floor before her.

She also didn't notice that they were no longer alone. At least, not until her wand burned in a flash to white-hot, and then to powdered ash, burning her hand. Pansy wasn't able to turn fast enough to even see that it was Harry Potter who had stopped her. And it was also Harry Potter who had enclosed her in some kind of cube made entirely of energy. She had no way of knowing that Harry had patterned it after a 'force field' in a muggle book he'd read.

Pansy tried immediately to attack the walls of her ethereal prison - only to halt her attempt just as quickly when she felt every blow to the transparent wall on the back of her own neck, as if she had punched herself.

Harry was squatting beside Laura, who was trying to catch a breath. He stroked her forehead, keeping the young girl's hair out of her eyes, before picking her up and holding her in his arms like a small baby. "You did very well, Laura," he said. She still couldn't speak, but was shaking her head back and forth. "Yes, my friend, you did. I felt that spell you cast all the way up in the Gryffindor tower; that's why I came to see what was going on. That was pretty powerful spell work, young lady."

The muscles of Laura's abdomen had finally lessened their grip enough for her to take in a breath, whereupon she coughed, then buried her face in Harry's shirt and cried. _Here I go again,_ thought Harry. _Another woman crying on me._ "Do you need Madame Pomfrey?"

Laura shook her head. She didn't want any more attention drawn to her than necessary.

"Okay," said Harry. "But you know I can't let this go. I can keep your name out of things for now, if you like, but I'm not letting this go." He looked her in the eye before gently setting her down on her own feet. "Alright, off you go, then. I have something to do."

Laura took off running down the hall, pausing only to pick up her wand, which had fallen to the floor. Harry walked down the hall. The energy cube rose and floated behind, following him, bringing an enraged Slytherin girl with him.

He got a lot of strange looks from folks as he passed, but most of the student body was in the Great Hall - which was a good thing, as that was where Harry was headed. As he leaned on his staff to walk up the center aisle of the Great Hall, towing a floating and spitting Pansy behind him, the hall gradually grew quiet. They didn't know what was going on, but they knew that if Harry was involved, it was bound to be a good show.

Stopping in front of the head table, Harry bowed to Professor McGonagall. At that point, Harry almost wished that Snape were still on the staff, so that he could publicly smack the man down again in front of his house. Instead, he said calmly, "Professor, there has been an attack."

The headmistress put down her fork and gave him her attention. "Go on, Mr. Potter," she said.

"I interrupted this inbred snake chick torturing a first-year girl student in the hall outside the library. Making idiot noises about 'mudbloods' and slobbering on herself." At these comments, there was some commotion at the Slytherin table. Nobody was willing to confront him directly, but he was touching some nerves.

"Don't worry, Professor," Harry continued. "I'm not out for vengeance. I just want to take some small security measures to help protect the students, and make sure this doesn't happen again." He saw Pansy begin to relax; thinking maybe she wouldn't get punished after all. "After all," Harry said, raising his staff, "protecting the students is important. Wouldn't you say so, Headmistress?"

"Y-" began Professor McGonagall. For the first time in Harry's memory, she had stammered. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes, Mister Potter; protecting the students is quite important."

It was a rhetorical question, and McGonagall recognized - too late - that an answer wasn't expected. She watched, just as enthralled as the rest of the room, as Harry's security measure was revealed.

The floating shield cube containing Pansy started to glow a little brighter, and a high-pitched whistling sound could be heard. The light got brighter, and the whistle got louder and lower, lowering in pitch to the lowest level audible to the human ear. Steadily brighter... until it was too bright to look at comfortably. Steadily louder, until the cutlery began to vibrate and dance on the tables. Louder and lower still, until the noise was unbearable and the entire castle was shaking with the vibration. Most of the students and staff were screaming, holding their ears, unable to listen or watch.

Then the light and sound stopped abruptly, and Pansy dropped two feet to the floor.

"Professor McGonagall, Ms. Parkinson will never torture another student at Hogwarts. She is no longer capable. All magical ability has been removed from her, forever." There was an uproar in the Great Hall; most of Slytherin was apoplectic. Some of Gryffindor actually cheered, while most of the rest were just confused. Magical ability removed? How? Even McGonagall was agape, trying to process this datum.

"I would like to recommend that Ms. Parkinson be sent home," Harry said. "She is no longer a witch; she is now a squib. As a non-magical human, she is not eligible to attend Hogwarts."

Pansy Parkinson fainted dead away. The roar intensified; everyone trying to talk at once.

Harry banged his staff on the stone floor, enhancing it with his magic. A great huge _boom!_ like the firing of a cannon filled the room, and got the immediate attention of all present.

"Listen up!" Everybody except Pansy, reposing on the floor, did so. Harry continued. "Listen closely, bigoted cretins. There shan't be any more of this blood crap. Anybody else I find doing blood-bullying will be made a squib. No second chance, no extenuating circumstances, no last-minute repentance. Squib. For life."

His visage was utterly frightening. He still didn't appear to have lost his temper; he was discussing this with no more passion than a remark about hair styles. He looked pointedly down at Pansy's unconscious form on the floor at his feet. "Somebody should help her send a letter to her parents. The owls won't listen to her anymore."

/\

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was in a fix, and she knew it. She sat behind her desk in her Transfiguration office; still not feeling quite at home in the head office. With Harry seated in front of her, she was attempting to keep a professional demeanor. It wasn't easy.

Nibelung and Peony Parkinson, Pansy's parents, were there as well. Both of them were standing, yelling, and gesticulating wildly - though separately. Like many of the so-called "pureblood" families she had seen, there was little apparent emotional tie between the parents. They each acted like they were the only injured party, and bellowing and moaning in predictable fashion. Instead one of them sitting with their daughter, they were both vociferating at the Headmistress - proving they cared more for their social standing than for their daughter.

"What kind of institution allows..."

"Is this what you call a proper education..."

"Just wait until I report you to the..."

"I told them you weren't ready for this position..."

Harry was there, but not participating. Even when Mrs Parkinson got close enough to his face for him to detail what she'd had for lunch, he just looked bored, as if everything happening here had been played out already in his mind. Which, of course, it had.

"Well?" Mr. Parkinson finally shouted, in a small lull left by his harridan wife. "What are you going to do about it?" he demanded.

"Do about what, Mr. Parkinson?" she asked, politely.

"Why... but... this baseless attack on our daughter, of course! Madam, I demand that you summon the Aurors and have this dangerous... this... half-blood freak arrested!"

Minerva realized that she wasn't going to get much chance to speak. They weren't here to find out anything from her; they were just going through the motions and demands. She looked at Harry, who had been jerked into participating in the conversation by Parkinson's comment.

Harry answered her unspoken question. "By all means, Headmistress," he said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. "Please, summon the Aurors."

The professor threw floo powder into the fire and did the deed. Having been already notified of trouble, they didn't have to wait. They couldn't hear the conversation between the professor and the aurors, but as soon as her head returned from the flames the fireplace flared, and two men in auror uniform came into the room.

"I'm Ellis, this is Cooper," said one, brushing soot from his robes. "What seems to be the trouble?"

Before anyone else could speak, Harry waved his hand and petrified the two Parkinsons. "Well, Auror Ellis, this is your lucky day. You get to arrest two Death Eaters."

"Just relax, sonny; we'll take care of things," said Ellis, before turning to McGonagall. "Headmistress, can I-"

"Do you get special training to be rude and inconsiderate, or does it just occur naturally when you give an arse-hole a badge?" interrupted Harry, refusing to be put off.

Shocked at being spoken to in that tone, Ellis stopped and took a closer look at Harry. He took a breath to speak, but Harry beat him to it. "Just look. Mouth closed, eyes open." He pointed. Ellis looked at Cooper, who shook his head just slightly, but enough for Harry to see who was really in charge.

He had used his magic to highlight areas of interest on the Parkinsons. Pointing them out, he said, "These yellow areas I've outlined for you are dark objects. Don't touch them until the Unspeakables look at them."

"And just how do you-" Ellis tried.

"These purple areas," said Harry without giving an inch, "are portkeys concealed about their person. Pretty paranoid, wouldn't you say? You'll have to remove those before I release them. And the most fun of all..." he tapered off. Waving his hand, the left sleeves of both Parkinsons' robes fell off, exposing their Dark Marks.

Ellis looked at Harry as if he'd grown a horn out of the middle of his forehead. "Are you mad? These are very powerful people! You can't just go around accusing important people of being Death Eaters! You've put us in a very difficult position." He looked genuinely frightened.

"Difficult?" asked Harry. "No, not difficult. Is there a codicil to the law that says it's okay to have the Dark Mark if you're rich?"

"Look, it's not that simple," Ellis said.

"Yes, it is. It is _precisely_ that simple. Here you are, Mister Law Enforcement Official; two proven Death Eaters, in front of witnesses, all wrapped up in a nice tidy package. Are you afraid they're going to overpower you? Don't worry, I'll protect you." Minerva raised her hand to cover her grin, while Harry continued to speak in a wry, sardonic tone. "Stop trying to cover your arse and do your fucking job."

Ellis' face began to redden. He didn't want to take any more guff from this student, no matter how many scars he had on his head. He turned to Harry and was about to start yelling when Cooper put a hand on his shoulder. Ellis looked long and hard at Harry; his face showing ambivalence. Part of him wanted to attack, and part of him was trying to figure out the strange behavior of a mere boy.

He then turned, put the apparation manacles on the still-petrified Parkinsons, and disappeared with his charges. Cooper allowed the corner of his mouth to lift before nodding to Harry, then to McGonagall, and disapparating.

Minerva sat at her desk, and opened the drawer for her secret bottle - only to find she had neglected to replace it after the last time it was needed.

"Professor, it rather seems like I shall have to chew out the entire Auror Department, one or two at a time, to get them to actually fight the Dark."

McGonagall looked at him, then sighed and slumped, resigned. "I wish I could tell you that wasn't true, Harry. But I suspect you may be spot on."


	15. Chapter 15  Talk amongst yourselves

A/N: Thanks for reading and for your reviews.

/\

Chapter 15 - Talk amongst yourselves

Friday, December 20, 1996

It had been one week since the 'squibbing' (as the student population had come to call it), and Hermione had spent the week watching for changes in the school. The first change noticeable was that the fear of Harry had returned to Gryffindor tower. The Gryffs had almost all been in the Great Hall when it had gone down; and those who hadn't had been quickly informed.

Hermione was frustrated with the lot of them, including Ron. Ron Weasley had started out as the third friend Harry had ever known after Hagrid and Hedwig - and the very first friend his own age that Harry had ever had in his miserable life. But Ron wasn't living up to his Gryffindor heritage. Rather than being a good friend and standing by Harry, he had retreated.

The muggle-born witch was used to being ignored by most of those around her, but she was definitely not used to being ignored by Ron. She could tell that what Harry had done had upset Ron deeply, but she had no idea why. There certainly wasn't a single person in Gryffindor who thought Pansy should get her magic back. In fact, she had heard many of them say that the sadistic bitch got off easy.

So she waited in the common room that Friday evening after dinner, hoping to catch sight of one of Harry's dorm mates, to send a message to him. She really, really, _really_ needed to talk to her best friend. The portrait door opened and a noisy gang came in, including Ron and Neville.

Ron looked at her and said, "Hi, Hermione," quite politely. Then, to his mates, "See you guys on the pitch tomorrow first thing, right?"

_He really is playing at being the star of the team, now that Harry's not playing,_ she thought. She was glad he had something of his own to be proud of; something he didn't have to share with his siblings. "Neville," she called out to the quiet boy.

"Hi, Hermione," said Neville. Like all the other boys, Neville had grown up quite a bit, and was becoming a very nice (if very quiet) young man. "Did you need something?"

Her words came out all in a rush. "Nev, could you give this to Harry for me? I don't know if he's up there or not, but it's either ask you or send him an owl, and I'd feel silly sending an owl with a letter just to go upstairs, so if he's there, I mean if he isn't too busy-"

"Okay, Hermione! Are you okay? Take a breath. Is there something I can help with?"

She looked up sharply at his words, but saw that he wasn't making fun of her. He was genuinely concerned about her. She tried a shaky smile, saying, "Oh... Sorry, Neville... just... you see it's really..." Then she stopped, afraid she was going to cry.

"Wait here, Hermione; I'll make sure everybody's decent. Be right back." Neville patted her shoulder awkwardly, not really sure how to do things like that, before dashing up the stairs. He returned in short order, Harry in tow behind him.

Harry walked into the common room to find Hermione pacing and wringing her hands, much like he had seen her the night McGonagall and Lipharvest had gotten drunk and passed out. He stepped immediately up to her and put his hands over her clasped ones, speaking gently. "Hey... hey now, what's wrong?"

"Harry, I just-" before stopping herself. She saw that her little scene had attracted the attention of everyone in the room. "Harry, could I speak to you in private? It's really important and I need your advice."

He looked at her anxious face, brown eyes searching his face for his answer. "Of course, of course." He looked around at the room, before saying, "Why don't we just go for a walk? There's two more hours to curfew, and I don't have any training meetings tonight."

Harry kept hold on her right hand with his left, raising his right into the air. In a few seconds, his walking staff was seen floating down the stairs, through the open doorway and into his grasp. "There," he said. "Let's go." Still holding her hand, he led her out the door and down the hall.

Stepping briskly past the suits of armor and around a corner, he pulled her into a room that looked for all the world like a disused dorm room; like it could be the common room for a smaller fifth house. He closed the door and spoke, "Lights," causing several lamps to light and a fire to appear in the grate.

Her desire to know things overcame some of her anxiety, and she asked, "Harry, what is this room?"

"This is the common room for the Gryffindor Head Boy and Girl suites. Since the Head Boy and Girl are not from Gryffindor this year, this suite stays empty. That's why everything is so dusty."

Hermione looked around, seeing several comfortable pieces of furniture. This room, along with the unseen bedrooms, would make a very nice apartment for the school student heads. She stood stock still, and closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"I just have to do this first, Harry," she breathed. Then she opened her eyes and brought her wand up before her. "I, Hermione Jane Granger, swear on my magic that I shall not knowingly reveal any of Harry Potter's secrets to anyone, at any time, in any form, anywhere, without his prior permission. _Enim fides._"

A small, quiet 'chuff' sound was heard, and her hair moved slightly as if tickled by a light breeze. Harry just stood and watched her Witch's Oath, not knowing where any of this was going. It was performed perfectly and correct... but of course it would be, considering the caster.

She turned back to face him, but couldn't raise her eyes to his. He knew, through his ability to see all the way into her aura, that she was telling a great truth.

"Harry, I'm sorry I gave your secrets to Dumbledore. I'm sorry I tattled on you to the Order. I... I really care for you." A tear fell from the corner of one eye. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was just being a ghastly little swotty know-it-all. I was wrong. You don't have to tell me anything now, and I wouldn't blame you if you never told me any of your secrets again." She sniffed at this; he could see that idea truly hurt her. "I just wanted you to be able to trust me... to be around me... like we used to..."

That was as far as she got before she couldn't speak around her tears anymore. No matter what Harry had felt at that moment, there was no way he could have looked at her forlorn figure, baring her soul and her shame to him, and not be moved.

But he could also tell that this wasn't going to be a 10-second-hug kind of cry. He limped over to the nearest armchair and sat in it, putting his dicky knee on a hassock. Then he reached up with his arms and levitated her to share the chair with him. She was openly sobbing now, half on his lap and half on the chair. He held her as closely and as warmly as he knew how.

"Hermione, I-"

"Oh, God, no! Harry, please don't hate me..." she sobbed before wailing into his shirt again, gripping his collar with both hands to keep him close. "Please, I'll do anything, just please don't push me away again... awwwaaaahuhh..."

Harry held the crying young woman against him. He checked her aura, and saw that she was deeply hurt and emotionally damaged by what she perceived as his rejection of her. Looking a little deeper, he also saw a more significant damage, caused by her new understanding that she was responsible for the rift.

He knew he had the power, and the knowledge, and the dexterity to directly repair her aura and redact her mind. But he also knew, without knowing how he knew, that the healing could be done just as effectively with a few words. He waited for her emotional storm to pass, and stroked her hair, and stroked her shoulders, and reached under her to bring her more securely into his lap.

"Hermione..." he whispered gently into her ear, over and over. "Hermione..." Harry kept up his slow caresses and supportive whispers until her crying stopped. Reluctant to let her go, he nevertheless freed a hand long enough to conjure a box of tissues for her.

When she saw the box he was handing her, it almost set her off again. "Oh, you," she whimpered before setting about the task of drying her face. She made the noises and words women always make when their self-consciousness kicks back into gear. "I must look frightful, I'm a mess," and things like that.

Harry took her face in his hands and said, "Hermione, look at me." He said it very gently, but she couldn't resist him in this, and looked up. He was looking right into her eyes with his green ones, and she was transfixed; pinned there by his gaze like a butterfly on a lepidopterist's display board. She watched the swirl of his eyes, and felt the rush of his next words.

"Hermione, I love you."

The eyes moved closer until his lips touched hers in a kiss. Not a semi-accidental or tentative brush of lips, but a real kiss. She didn't know when they had switched rolls of tutor and pupil, but it was definitely obvious now. Harry was no longer a pupil. His kiss was gentle, soft, moist, slow, attentive and... yummy.

Although she had touched lips before, she would always remember this as her first kiss.

When he pulled away, her eyes were closed. She had a look of total concentration on her face. Most importantly, the damage that he had seen in her aura was healing very fast. Either she was over-analyzing what was happening, or was trying to commit every single nanosecond to memory. He hoped it was the latter.

"Hey," he called gently. Her eyes opened, startled and wondrous. "I have something I want to show you." She blushed immediately, telling the world what she thought he meant. "No, silly. Want to see where I live?"

She was apprehensive almost at once. "Um... Only if... I mean... Are you sure?"

"Dobby," he called in a normal voice.

The house elf appeared almost immediately, checking out the perimeter to see if his master and friend was in trouble. "Yes, Master Harry, what's wrong?"

"Is our home prepared to receive guests?"

Dobby's eyes widened, followed close behind by a wide smile. "Is Master Harry's Miss Grangey coming to visit?"

"Dobby, would you put the kettle on? And I think this would be a wonderful time to have your favorite food. Right? Good, we'll be along in a moment."

Dobby snapped his fingers and disappeared. He looked into the face of Hermione, who had the strangest expression. She looked positively ready to burst, but unwilling to speak - which was exactly the case.

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Oh, Dobby lives with me now. I think he gets a kick out of telling his friends that he's the highest-paid elf in all of Great Britain."

Under his hands, he could feel the tension drain from her shoulders. She turned a little in his lap and moved her head up to be kissed again. Harry obliged - taking his time, as kisses shouldn't be rushed. This time, the movement of a warm, cuddly and pretty witch on him made a more predictable reaction. Refusing to be embarrassed or fearful, he just let himself grow under her warm bum, and waited to see her reaction.

When Hermione noticed, she gasped a little and looked at him, seemingly surprised. "Harry..." she began.

"Yes, love?"

"I-" she started, and then blushed furiously. "I mean... Really?"

Looking directly into her eyes so she could feel the truth of his words, he put his lips against hers and spoke directly to her lips. "There may be ways of faking that, or there may not." He kissed at random times between words, like extra punctuation. "But if there are ways, I don't know them."

They continued exploring the softnesses and firmnesses for another moment, before a 'pop' announced the arrival of Dobby. "Master Harry, tea is ready," said the elf with a bow and a giant grin.


	16. Chapter 16  A Sigh Is Just A Sigh

A/N: Thanks for reading and for your reviews.

/\

Chapter 16 - A Sigh Is Just A Sigh

Two hours later, Harry and Hermione lay on his divan, spooning and holding each other, watching a warm fire in the sitting room of Harry's under-hill home, their bellies comfortably filled from Dobby's French toast, while Harry finished telling the story of how he had come to be living there. She had nodded, quite solemn, when he told her that none of this information could be shared with anyone.

"So, you see," Harry said. "None of this has been about a spoiled little rich kid throwing a tantrum and not wanting to play nice anymore."

"Harry, I just don't think it's a good idea to hide from your problems," she said.

"Critical thinking, love; you're smarter than that," chided Harry.

"What do you mean?"

"I have been back at school for precisely fifty days. Think about what you have seen me do, and the issues you have seen me manage." He spoke gently, and could see that she really was thinking about them. "Do those seem like the actions of a man who is hiding from his problems?"

"No, I guess not," she said. Considering all that had happened in the last fifty days, Harry had directly confronted, and dealt with, more problems than anyone else in the wizarding world had handled in over a year. "Then-" she stopped, obviously wanting to think things through before speaking again.

Harry noticed and smiled, happy her back was to him so she wouldn't be embarrassed.

Then she gasped, her body lurching against his in interesting ways. "You've been emancipated!"

"Yes, as I said."

"But... if you're an adult, and you're rich, why did you come back to Hogwarts? Why bother getting grades from people who don't matter to you?"

"I had some things to resolve. I couldn't walk away from that bad situation and know that my friends were still in it. And I wanted to see the look on that old bastard's face when I took him down a peg or six."

"Harry... believe it or not, I still haven't talked about what I came to see you for in the common room."

Harry squeezed the arm around her, drawing her even closer. "Were you too scared?" he breathed just behind her ear.

"No. I mean... well, somewhat, but that's not why," she said. "I wanted to talk to you about Ron. I just can't figure out what's going on with him right now."

Harry sighed. He knew exactly what was going on with Ron, but had held off bringing it up. "I know. I wasn't going to say anything until either you or he brought it up. But I know exactly what is going on with Ron."

"Is it a secret? Or is it something I can help with?"

"No, neither. It's not a secret because I don't think he knows himself, yet. Ron is staying away from you, and has been for a couple months. Right?" He waited for her nod. "That's because of two things. Firstly, because he's a blood supremacist."

Her snort was loud and quite un-ladylike. "That's just silly. Ron?"

"Yes, in a dangerous and difficult way. Difficult, because he doesn't even realize he's doing it. Ron has been a good friend, but he isn't one of life's great thinkers. He has taken for granted his entire life that wizards are 'better' than other folk. Without considering it, he just 'knows' that wizards are better, and pure wizards are better than non-pure."

"But Harry, he's never said anything like that around me! What makes you think he's like that?"

Quietly, he said, "He's never been around Muggles at all, in his mind. In the mind of Ron Weasley, he's around wizards right now. As long as he's at Hogwarts, the folks around him don't impinge on his consciousness as different - everybody at Hogwarts must be a wizard or they couldn't get in. But deep down inside where it seldom sees the light of day is that belief. And it's dangerous because he doesn't think about it."

Hermione thought about that in silence for a bit. She knew just how secrets could hide and grow or fester inside, surfacing for trouble at inconvenient times. "So that's why he's been avoiding me?" she asked.

"No, Hermione. The second reason is that he has a crush on you."

"I don't understand. Why would he avoid me if he likes me?"

"Because he doesn't know how to reconcile those two things. They confuse him, love. He wants you, but he knows your parents are Muggles. Inferior beings who had a kid who is better at witchcraft and wizardry than he is. He's a pureblood. Although his parents would never intentionally teach him prejudice, they inadvertently did so just by their way of raising children.

"On top of all that, he saw what I did to Pansy Parkinson last week, and he knows why I did it. So he doesn't know how to talk to you right now, and he's _deathly_ afraid he'll say the wrong thing and I'll make him a squib."

"But-" she began to say, and then started over. "Okay. I was going to say that's silly, and there's no reason for him to think you'd do it. But again, he's not one of life's greatest thinkers. What can we do to help him? To get him back?"

"I don't know, Hermione. For one thing, he's going to go spare when he learns that you and I are a couple. For another... well, for another, I don't know anything besides a blow to the head that'll make him think about it and think hard without throwing a wobbly. He's a hothead. Any attempt to discuss the topic will anger him."

She knew he was right. Ron had a full dose of the infamous Weasley temper from his mother's side of the family. Like his mother, Ron rarely thought; he just reacted. And there was often no telling just what the reaction would be.

The two lapsed into silence, looking into the fire and gaining comfort from the closeness of each other's body.

/\

Hermione woke slowly. Her eyes still closed, things impinged upon her consciousness one at a time, in sequence. The warmth of being held by Harry. The firmness of his chest against her back. The slow tickle of his breath on the back of her neck. The strength of his right arm around her, high enough up to rest snugly against the bottom of her left breast.

Then a slow smile when she noticed an altogether different kind of firmness against her bum. New, and strange, and yet... familiar in a way that was as old as time. Pulsing in time with his heart rate. How could she help but smile? Pressing against her was a warm proof that he wanted her. Hermione's bookish side remembered how it used to be called the "gallant reflex"; while her womanly side was thinking of it in words like "throbbing". _Gracious,_ she thought with a grin. _If that much blood moved to another part of my body, I'd probably faint!_

Harry hadn't turned on the charmed windows, so there was no way of knowing what time it was outside. She didn't care. Somehow, still without opening her eyes, she knew he was awake. She whispered, "Harry?"

"Yes, love?" he answered in a voice that was leagues deeper and huskier than normal.

She turned under his arm until her front was pressed against his, her weight half atop him. She finally opened her eyes, noticing that he had transfigured the divan into a bed while she slept - with silk sheets and fur blankets. She looked into his eyes and saw the desire there; desire kept under tight reign by his sense of honor and right.

She moved to kiss him, pressing her breasts into his chest, and sliding her mound against him.

"Hermione," he spoke against her lips. "Don't start anything you don't intend to finish."

"Harry, you've known me for six years. I'm obsessive. I always finish what I start."

/\

That next morning was bright, sunny, still, and quite cold. The two wanted very much to walk back to the castle, but they understood just how bad it would be if they were seen returning by any student or staff member. Especially since this wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend. Even though they were both adults in the wizarding world, they knew it would be trouble.

Disconcerting as it was to Hermione, Harry solved the problem neatly. When they were both dressed and ready to go, they stood in his living room. "Dobby?"

"Yes, Master Harry."

"My home is still a secret, Dobby," Harry said, seeing the elf nod. "Hermione is the only person I have told. No one else is to know without my permission first. Okay?"

"Of course, Master Harry, sir." Dobby looked quite serious, which he was. He prided himself on being a good house elf, and house elves were magically bound to keep the secrets of their masters.

"Thank you," Harry said to him. "I knew you'd understand. I have to get Hermione back to the school now, but I'll probably see you tonight."

Harry gestured, and a large oval-shaped darkness grew quickly before him. Like a hole in the middle of nothing. He changed it to behave like a big viewing portal, showing the inside of Hogwarts' library. Like a window in reality, which was exactly what it was. When he was satisfied that nobody was watching that part of the library, he took Hermione around the waist and stepped into the portal. When the two arrived - silently - in the library, Harry waved his hand and the portal shrunk quickly to nothingness, as if the gate had never been.

Hermione's eyes widened and she looked about to speak, when there was the sound of student voices nearby. He touched his finger to her lips and she stopped herself just in time from asking him. She desperately wanted to know what kind of magic it was that allowed him to make rift-doors. And the knowledge that he had power to do what she had always believed impossible changed her gaze quickly to heavy-lidded desire. She took his finger into her mouth, licking him and letting him know in no uncertain terms that she wanted him right there in the library.

Harry smiled, replaced his finger with his lips in a quick but intense kiss, and took her hand to walk from behind the stacks - only to be confronted with a wide-eyed Colin Creevey.

"Merlin, Harry!" he exclaimed. "You 'bout frightened the life outta me!"

"Hey, Harry," said Dennis, his brother standing to one side. "Did McGonagall ever find you?"

Harry answered, un-phased, "No, Dennis. When was she looking for me?"

"All morning, Harry," answered Colin while both boys grinned. "Something about a board meeting. You might wanna check in with her if you're through."

Hermione was holding her head up haughtily, as if above such petty concerns as the Creevey brothers knowing about her and Harry. The effect was completely ruined by her furious blushing.

Scant moments later, Harry was standing in the doorway of Professor McGonagall's office. "Can I help you, Professor?"

She started at his voice, then scowled at her own reaction. "Mr. Potter," she snapped, "Would you mind telling me where you have been?"

Harry very quickly slammed down the doors of his face, turning off all emotion. He was getting very good at it. When he spoke, his voice was so devoid of emotion it was almost mechanical. "I see, we're back to the 'Mr. Potter' now, are we? Very well, then. Yes."

"Yes, what? Where have you been?"

"Yes, the answer to your question. You asked if I would mind. My answer is yes, I _do_ mind." He remained standing, gazing at her and leaning on his staff.

"Mr. Potter, I have the responsibility for the students under-"

"No," he said quietly.

"No? What do you mean, 'no'? I have to know and be sure of-"

"No," he said again.

"Mr. Potter, I am not pleased at your interruptions-"

"Then stop talking crap," he said. He raised his hand when she began again. "No. You are afraid of something right now. Being afraid makes you ashamed. Being made to feel ashamed makes you angry. Being angry is clouding your judgment. You may call me when you're ready to talk without bullying." He rammed the end of his staff against the floor, making McGonagall blink. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

Professor Minerva McGonagall plopped back into her chair, agape and aghast. It had been many, many years since she had been told off so thoroughly. And by a student, yet! The gall. The utter temerity!

She fumed without speaking, alone in her office, wondering what she was going to do. There was no getting around it, she was in a pickle.

"Oh, Harry," she spoke, tired and exasperated. "Just what are we going to do with you?" She hung her head and rubbed her temples.

It was as if she could hear his voice in her head. _But that's the whole problem, Minerva. I am not yours to do anything with._

"Ach," she said, her brogue thickening in times of dire stress. "I really was trying to intimidate you, wasn't I?"

_Yes._

"And you really are talking to my mind, aren't you?" She still spoke aloud; it was the only way she knew.

_Yes._

"I'm sorry, Harry. Please come back, we have a problem."

Immediately, there he was, standing once more in the doorway. "Next time," he said, "please start with that."

"Harry, you and I have been summoned to appear before the Board of Governors. It's about Pansy."

He didn't need to ask; he knew exactly what they wanted, and what was going to be said. "When?" he asked.

"One o'clock."

"I imagine you're being called on the carpet as well, correct?"

"In a manner of speaking," she said. "There are those on the board who do not approve of me holding the headmaster's position. Even though it has been made plain that my position is temporary, some want me removed."

"I see," said Harry, and he did. A few more things fell into place in his mind; things that made it just as clear what he had to do. "Professor, I shall meet you at the door of the board room at just before one o'clock. Will that be satisfactory?"


	17. Chapter 17  Tweak the nose

A/N: I am always grateful for kind reviews and readers, and gratified that the majority seem to be positive. More notes at the end of the chapter.

/\

Chapter 17 - Tweak the nose of the dreadful spindly killer fish

Saturday, December 21, 1996

A few minutes before one, Professor McGonagall walked up to the entrance door to the board room. Harry was sitting in the hall, relaxing on one of his conjured armchairs, reading a small book. He looked as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"Ready, Harry?" she asked. He nodded, lowering his book to be polite. She said, "The board is comprised of seven members, of varying ages and varying walks of life. They will be sitting behind a table, acting as a sort of tribunal. Please be careful of what you say."

"Nowadays, Professor, I am always careful of what I say. It is others who seem to fling words about in wild abandon." He looked at her pointedly, and she had the grace to look away. Harry stood and vanished his chair, tucking his book in some mysterious place in his robes. Shocking his professor, he stepped in to give her a quick peck on the cheek before stepping to the door. "Shall we?"

"Cheeky monkey," she mumbled as she passed him; but he could see she was struggling not to grin.

"Ah, Minerva, good of you to join us." This from a sour, nasty-looking man of stubbly brown hair and effete demeanor. "And you must be Mr. Potter," he said, looking down his big nose at Harry.

Harry just stood and looked at him. Neither glaring nor flinching, he met the gaze of the man who was trying to establish himself as an authority figure.

"Well?" said the man.

"Well, what?" said Harry.

"Well, I asked you a question, young man!"

"No, you didn't. You made a statement."

The man began to get upset, and the effect on his already-reedy voice was not flattering. "Now, look here-"

"Why?" interrupted Harry.

The man sputtered for a moment, caught by surprise and not pleased about it. "B- Th- Why?" He looked around the table for support, finding it mixed. "Don't you know who we are?"

"No, of course I don't," said Harry. "You didn't bother to introduce yourself."

"We are the Hogwarts Board of Governors!"

"Alright," Harry answered, looking quite serene. "That is _what_ you are, not _who_. Who are you?" He heard a snicker to his left that was quickly covered by the clearing of a throat.

"I just told you who we are!" came the reply, in a voice that was beginning to get positively whiny. "Listen, you impertinent little-"

"Who's impertinent? You wish to question me, and I asked who you are. What could be _more_ pertinent? Who's little? I am legally an adult, and bigger than you, from the look of things." That snicker came again. "I still don't have an answer, by the way. I would like to know the name of every person in this room."

This time, the response was a deep, gentle laugh from Harry's right. "Well played, young man. Hah, well played indeed." Harry turned to see the speaker, who was a wizard in his nineties, still handsome. "I am Obadiah Throckmorton. The gentleman turning too puce to talk over there is Erkan Rumspigot." Raising his eyebrows, he turned to the woman on his right.

"Evadne Pocock." Short, shapely and fashionable.

"Porpentina Clench." Normal height, obese and brassy. She had short and thick hair.

"Ramsey Fitz-Loosely." Early forties, very tall, thin and sour.

"Typhoon Blackstump." Booming voice, normal height and noble. Quite old, perhaps 100.

"Elsie Panderbody." Mid-fifties, short, slender and homely. Her hair was silvery and bobbed. She had intense blue eyes.

Harry bowed to the assemblage. "And I am Harry Potter. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, I'm sure. Especially you, you and you..." he said, pointing at three people; who immediately froze in place. "Aurors!"

Four invisibility cloaks were pulled off to reveal four aurors, who had been standing quietly in the large room all along.

Harry pointed again, and said, "Erkan Rumspigot, Porpentina Clench, and Ramsey Fitz-Loosely have identified themselves by name. I identify them as Death Eaters. You may have them."

There was an outcry, of course. "By Merlin!" from old Blackstump, while Elsie fainted dead away right next to him. The aurors checked the forearm of each of the three that Harry had pointed out, showing the room the dark mark on each before putting the apparation manacles on and taking their prisoners away.

"I knew there was something I didn't like about that guy," said Harry. "Well, for the rest of you, perhaps we should get on?"

Throckmorton laughed again, this time leaning back in his chair. "By Merlin and by Jove! Ha, no wonder! That jackass rubbed everybody the wrong way." Clapping his hands, he said, "Let's get back to it. Shall I?" he waited for dissent, and there was none. "Very well. Mr. Potter, we've had formal complaints lodged from the Parkinsons. They claim you damaged their daughter's magic. Can you confirm or deny this?"

Harry nodded. "Mr. Throckmorton, I did not damage Pansy Parkinson's magic; I removed it entirely."

Evadne Pocock spoke up, "Oh, but seriously... you don't mean-"

"Yes, Ms. Pocock. She is a squib, now and forever."

"You expect us to believe that a mere student could-"

"I am not a 'mere' anything," interrupted Harry. "I am a man, a wizard, last living heir of Godric Gryffindor, Lord Potter and Lord Black, and the grown-up version of the Boy Who Lived. I'll thank you not to condescend, madam."

"But... Mr. Potter, you can't just... we can't have you just making squibs out of the wizarding student body!"

"Why not? Which school charter rules or laws state so?"

The outburst from the four remaining board members was subdued, but intense, as they talked amongst themselves. Of course, there were no laws or school rules preventing such a thing. Although the rituals for stripping magic were forbidden and taboo as dark, no such rituals had been used.

After a few minutes, Harry spoke again. "May I have your attention, please?"

The group stopped as if slapped; being reminded that they were here to review and rule on the Parkinson 'squibbing'.

Harry said, "Moments before I came to this meeting, I received confirmation that Nibelung and Peony Parkinson, Pansy's parents, have both been convicted as Death Eaters. As all of her living relatives are in Azkaban, Pansy is now a ward of the state." He did not wait for their outraged comments to die down. His voice got colder and quieter, compelling them to listen. "Pansy Parkinson now owes me a wizard's life debt. That's right, I saved her life. If I hadn't taken her magic, she would have been coerced into taking the Dark Mark, and I would have had to kill or capture her just like her parents.

"Listen carefully, please," he said even more quietly. "There shall be no more of this pure-blooded bigoted bullshit on my watch. I will publicly embarrass everyone around me who speaks it aloud. I will smack down, hard, anyone who attacks or bullies because of it. Right now, and after I kill Voldemort, and every day thereafter.

"Christmas break is here; the students are going home on Monday. If there is nothing else, I'm sure Professor McGonagall has more important things to attend to."

/\

The operation of the school went on as normal, mostly, until that Monday when it was time for the students (and some of the staff) to leave for the Christmas holiday.

Hermione had been fit to be tied when she'd found out that Harry had already learned the entire year's Arithmancy and Runes - her two best subjects - and he had never even taken the courses! It didn't take long for him to figure out that she was hurt because he didn't need her help with homework anymore, and he was even helping others with theirs in the common room.

But she had stopped in mid-rant and gone absolutely gooey when Harry told her, "Hermione, I need you for who you are, not what work you can do for me. You're not my homework-slave." She ignored the catcalls it engendered when she jumped into his lap and laid a lip-lock on him, right in the middle of breakfast.

At nine-thirty, Harry intercepted her in the entry hall. She was chewing her bottom lip. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Two things, really," she said, "and they're both rather private."

Harry waved and surrounded them with a notice-me-not charm and a privacy spell that not even Moody's magical eye could get through. He took her hand and said, "Tell me."

"Well, the first is... I mean... well, my mother is going to know I'm not a virgin anymore."

"Okay, and...?"

"Harry, my mother will probably be okay, but my father is going to flip."

"Okay, then I'll go with you. Do you think you did anything wrong?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Why? Do you think it was wrong?"

"Of course not, Hermione. It is the most right thing that there is in this world." She blushed. "But that's not the point. The point is, if you don't think it was wrong, then why do you feel guilty?"

"Harry, you don't know what it's like to be an only girl child of a protective father. It doesn't have to make sense, but he's going to flip anyway."

"Then," he said with a straight face, "there's only one thing we can do: suicide."

Her eyes shot open in shock for just a few seconds, until she realized he was joking. Beginning to smile, she said, "Oh, you..." while playfully punching his arm - before snatching it back in alarm. "Ow!" she said, rubbing her knuckles. "You burned me!"

"No, Hermione. _You_ burned you. Punching is not flirtatious, or cute, or playful. I have constructed my shields to prevent such abuse. By anyone. But I'm truly grateful that you didn't hit very hard."

"Why not?" asked a surly Hermione.

"Because I suspect you would probably be wounded. Now, I'll go with you as far as Hogsmeade train station. I would have taken you home the same way I took you to my place, but you're a prefect and they expect you on the train."

"I know. There won't be a meeting, but they still hope I'll keep order. I don't know why; prefects certainly haven't been able to keep order for the last six years."

"That's the spirit," said Harry. "What's one more installment of mayhem in the grand scheme of things? C'mon, I'll carry your stuff."

/\

A/N2: Sorry folks, but any requests for what direction this story should go are far too late. This novel was finished and complete back in 2009; I'm just reposting it here. I post one or two chaps at a time to get more time in the "Just In" pages, and to give time for reviews.

A/N3: Unlike many other authors, I will not post _any_ part of my stories here until the whole thing is complete. I know I'm not alone in getting quite weary of getting really deep into a fantastic story only to find out that it was abandoned in 2003. These days, I rarely even start reading a fic unless it is marked as "complete". I don't impose those rules on any others; it's just the way I run my own things.


	18. Chapter 18  A Holly, Jolly Christmas

A/N: Thanks again for reading and reviewing.

/\

Chapter 18 - A Holly, Jolly Christmas

Harry had plans to spend some time at his home in Hogsmeade. After giving Hermione a going-away kiss that made her quiver and made any other girls within view sigh quietly, he apparated straight to his sitting room.

"Dobby," he called, and the elf appeared before he finished saying the word. "My friend, we have a lot of work to do, but we're going to have a nice, happy Christmas this year. Did those documents come from Gringott's today?"

"Yes, Master Harry, I left them on your desk."

"Excellent. Come, Dobby, we have a lot of planning to do." Harry used his magic to pull a tall stool close to the desk, so that the elf could survey the documents at an equal level.

/\

For the first time in a long time, the holidays brought widespread good news. Every day the students were away from school, there was a new story of the triumph of good in the Daily Prophet, and sometimes even on the Wizarding Wireless.

Fortunately enough, there were no Death Eater attacks on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. But then the news started coming in. It was as if someone were giving holiday presents to every witch and wizard in Britain.

/\

_The Daily Prophet_

_Dateline, December 26th  
>Rumspigot Family Business Sued For Patent Infringement<br>Orig Trademark Owned By Gideon Prewett, Weasleys May Get Settlement_

/\

_Dateline, December 27th  
>Funeral Parlour Caught Dumping Bodies In The Woods<br>More Trouble For Malfoys_

/\

_Dateline, December 28th  
>Contract On Fenrir Greyback<br>Anonymous Donor Offers 50,000 Galleons, Dead Or Alive._

/\

_Dateline, December 29th  
>Undersecretary Umbridge Arrested<br>Charged With Torturing Students, Attempted Use Of Unforgivable_

/\

_Dateline, December 30th  
>Sidney Avery, Caractacus Nott Found Dead<br>Was It A Suicide Pact?_

/\

Each day the papers came out with more good news, Harry nodded quietly to himself. He didn't smile; nor did he frown. He just got on with planning the next one. His solicitor, Cyril Thynne, was happy to have the extra money over the holidays.

The real surprise was Dobby who, as it turned out, made an excellent coordinator. He tracked and reported the times and activities of aurors, the ministry, the goblins, and some other less-than-savory characters who were best left in the shadows. People like Mundungus Fletcher, who had their uses, but definitely did not bear close scrutiny.

Harry still didn't know where Colter came from, though he suspected the older elf belonged to a well-to-do family. Even though older and therefore senior to Dobby, Colter brought much information and intelligence to the table when it came to tracking the minions of the Dark Lord. Harry suspected that, although house elves are bound to keep their masters' secrets, that Colter was probably skirting the line at tracking Death Eaters.

The rest of the wizarding world was happier than it had been in quite some time. The Weasleys were all home for Christmas holiday except Percy; but Percy even sent an animated, singing greeting card to Ginny. It didn't seem like much, but the family took it as the half-hearted peace offering that it was meant to be. The news of their imminent windfall from the Rumspigot family meant that the family would soon move from poverty to upper middle-class.

/\

The old locus was nearly forgotten by man. The abbey that had once stood in that dolorous place, built during the time of the druids, had long ago crumbled, leaving only part of the stone living quarters. Only one room of the manse remained standing, though it wasn't standing very well. The high portal windows held no glass or coverings, and were open to the elements - and to the birds. Grey light struggled to show through the open window-openings of this mostly-ruined and very old manse; showing the collected detritus of hundreds of years of storms and animals. The forest had almost reclaimed this little piece of man's work. Almost, but not quite.

The slender, crooked form of the most powerful Dark Lord in many centuries sat uncomfortably on a crude wooden throne, in a dimly-lit stone hall. The 'throne' was a carved wooden seat, as if one of the celebrant chairs behind the altar in the old abbey had been hit with a _reparo_ - which was exactly what it was.

One familiar with the old legends would have expected the man's voice to be deep, rumbling, commanding, even booming. One would expect a voice suited for command, that could engender immediate compliance. Instead, the voice had a high pitch; thin, reedy, and somewhat sibilant. He spoke: "Bella! Come here."

Bellatrix Lestrange moved immediately to kneel at the foot of her master, bowing until her forehead touched the cold stone floor. "Yes, my lord."

Voldemort said, "Do not try my patience, woman. You know what I want."

"My lord, I went to their house, and used the scrying artifact you gave me. It was as you suspected; Avery and Nott did not commit suicide." She licked her lips. "They were struck down, by that old auror, Moody."

"Good. Since you know who it was, I presume you brought him back with you?"

Bellatrix cowered. "He is in hiding, my lord. We have not found him yet."

"_Crucio!_" The incredible power of Voldemort poured into the most foul torture curse known to wizard-kind. A cruel smirk played on his thin, bloodless lips as he watched her suffer, heard her screams.

/\

At the very north-eastern tip of the long, narrow Loch Laidon, there are some very pretty rolling hills. Green almost the whole year round, it was far enough off the beaten path to satisfy a paranoid old retired auror like Alastor Moody.

After the noisy dustbin incident at his home, and his subsequent kidnapping and incarceration in the bottom of a trunk for some nine months, Moody had quietly set about finding new digs. Posing as a muggle with forged passport and a glamour spell, he bought three acres of land at the tip of the loch. Making use of the expensive but super-secret services of goblins, he had caused there to be built a small, but comfortable, home.

But he didn't stop there. Mad-Eye Moody had many enemies, alive and dead, and was experienced enough to know that just because someone was dead didn't mean they couldn't get at you. So he warded his home. And warded it, and warded it, until it became the second most secure place in all of Britain. Starting with the Fidelius charm, he then made it unplottable, and then set up a layering of hundreds of independent wards that would have made a curse-breaker cry. Moody himself had to cast eleven spells at careful intervals and provide three drops of his blood before he could get into his own home.

He took great pains to ensure no one knew where his home was. He kept ownership of the old house, but was never there. Here, in the countryside of Scotland, he was able to relax his guard a little, and fall into the habits of the retired old man that he was.

At 86 years, Moody wasn't the oldest auror still around - given the long lives wizards were wont to live - but he was certainly the most notorious. Most field aurors moved to more tame ministry pursuits after a reasonable length of time; like one of the many licensing desks. Usually in their early forties. But not him. Anyone suggesting such a change on his part would be on the receiving end of a gruff, curt refusal. He joined the aurors to be an auror, he'd tell them. Not to sit around on his arse pushing forms.

So he kept chasing and catching the bad guys. Nobody could remember any other auror who stayed in the field for over fifty years. They'd finally had to trick him into retirement, at the age of 78. He had put many a good, young auror to shame by simply never stopping. Even though no one could expect aurors to try to match his record, and no one denigrated the others for it, the younger aurors had all been greatly intimidated by his record, and by his presence.

And that was just fine with Moody. He wasn't antisocial, just asocial. From a very early age, he'd kept himself to himself. Men found him frightening, women found him enigmatic, and little children saw through the crust and thought him wonderful - mostly because he talked to them as equals and took them seriously when other adults dismissed them.

Which was why he was so flummoxed when someone knocked on his front door. Waving his wand and grumbling, the old wizard cast a small charm that misdirected the sounds he made. Not taking any chances, he spoke, "Who is it?"

"Harry Potter."

"Balls," swore Moody mildly.

"No thanks, I have plenty," came the reply.

Moody came up short, and then laughed. "Alright, you young jackanapes, you're a Clever Dick, come on in on your own, if ye can." The last 'n' sound was barely out of his mouth when there stood Harry in his vestibule. Bold as brass, dry as two bones despite the heavy, sloppy snow that had been falling all morning. "Ye've got-" and he stopped, seeing the look in Harry. Thinking better of the lecturing approach, he swung his head to indicate that his visitor should follow. "Was just 'avin' a nice brandy. You wouldn't want any of that now, would ye?"

"Actually," Harry said, "I brought you a gift. Call it a housewarming present." He brought a wrapped bottle out from beneath his robe, handing it to Moody. It was Napoleon, and was so old that the label was almost unreadable.

"Merlin..." Moody whispered, reverent at last. Here was something he could respect. "Well, I'll just get us a couple glasses then, shall I?" He stumped about looking for another brandy glass and they made their way into the comfortable drawing room.

/\

An hour later, Harry was finishing up his tale. "So you see, it's been me giving the Death Eaters grief. But they think it's you doing it. I have no idea where they got that idea, but I figured I owed you a fair warning."

Moody stared into his fire, his snifter forgotten for the moment at his side. "Aye," he finally said. "Aye, I can see how they'd think so. I gave 'em a good run for their trouble back the last time they misbehaved. But jest how d'ye figure you owe me anything?"

Harry said, "That's easy. The things I am doing are the reason they're after you."

"That's as may be, but they don't know how or where to find me."

"I found you."

Moody remembered his snifter, picking it up and draining it in a single swallow. "Aye, you did. How?"

"Scrying," Harry said simply.

Moody started as if to stand in alarm, then slumped back into his armchair. Several emotions chased each other across his face; from scorn, to surprise, to fear, to curiosity, and all over again.

Harry watched for a moment, then laughed. "Mister Moody, I'm not a demon. I just learned a new skill."

"Just learned a new skill, eh?" replied Moody. "Just learned, on your own, a skill that takes years to learn."

"Why? No," waving the older man to relax. "No, I don't mean why it bothers you. I mean, why does it take so long to learn? The concept is quite simple, the books are quite clear on it, and it requires no more special talent than any kitchen cleaning skill we have. So, why?"

Moody was silent, rubbing his chin and then taking a sip of brandy.

"I'll tell you why," Harry said. "Because our crooked Ministry and pusillanimous Wizengamot tell everyone it's hard. And they tell people that because they don't want people doing it. After all, if I can scry, I can see what they're up to, eh?"

Moody started at that, and then laughed in a loud guffaw. "By thunder, you're a plucky one! Ha!"

The two lonely men, one young and one old, spent the evening in companionable conversation.


	19. Chapter 19  Stuck In The Middle

A/N: One reviewer says they think they've read this story already, so I'll say this again: this is not an update, it is a repost. I published this story - my story - on another fanfic website in 2009. I am merely reposting it here.

/\

Chapter 19 - Stuck In The Middle Again

_Tuesday, January 7, 1997_

The crowd of students in the Room of Requirement milled around, murmuring to each other as they waited for the evening's session with Harry to begin. A month earlier, the murmuring would have had a definite connotation of consternation. Now, however... a week after school had resumed after the holidays, the mood was downright jubilant.

The students weren't even complaining about homework, even though there had been no let-up. The entire wizarding world was abuzz with news of all the dark side's bad luck. They were finally beginning to believe that things were going to get better.

Silence quickly took over as the sound of Harry's staff banging on the floor was heard. Harry stood among them. Not at a stage or podium, but right in the middle of the milling press of student bodies, as it were.

"Hello, everyone," he said. "Did everyone have a good holiday?" The uproar was immediate, positive, and heart-warming. "Good. I have something I want to show you this evening. You might say we're going to do a little field trip."

He looked around, noting the look of consternation on Dierdre's countenance. "No, don't worry," he continued. "We shan't be leaving the school grounds. I am going to show you all something that absolutely cannot exist." He paused, letting them stew for a bit. "I promise you will not be in trouble. If you would all follow me?"

Stepping to the door, he walked with his staff into the hall in a very stately manner. He did not look back to see who would follow, because he knew momentum was on his side. After hanging back a few moments, the few stragglers in the back followed the gang.

And what a gang it was. A strange procession from the seventh floor Room of Requirement down hallways, across a few catwalks, down some stairs, along some more halls... Harry kept a steady but gentle pace, his stick clumping down on the stone floor with each alternate step. The group had no trouble keeping up. They also had no trouble ignoring the students who were _not_ in the procession; the Slytherins, the other teachers, and some who were very young.

Out in front was... there was no other word for it. Regal in bearing and confident of mien, Harry was every inch the leader. Any onlookers could only be confused as Harry strode forth, flanked by Hermione, Luna, Neville, Ginny, and Professor Lipharvest - his phalanx, his cadre.

There were many along the route who scowled at them, but none dared to oppose a throng of two hundred eighty-seven well-drilled, determined and united witches and wizards.

Harry led them unerringly to the second floor girls' rest room before stopping at the door. Nudging it open with his staff, he called, "Myrtle?"

There was a big splash on the other side of the door, and then the ghost of young Moaning Myrtle appeared through the door. "Harry! Oooo, you came back, you didn't forget!" She started zooming around in a tight circle.

"Of course not, Myrtle," said Harry, mischievous grin firmly in place. "I'm going to show a few friends the passage that I found four years ago. Just thought I'd say hi before passing through."

Myrtle's frightened look was classic, considering she had nothing further to fear from a Basilisk - especially a dead one. "Oh, Harry! Are you sure you really to go down there? It's ever so... ever so nasty."

Where some would have laughed and teased her, Harry didn't. She had meant her advice to be quite solemn, so he answered just as solemnly, "Don't worry, Myrtle. It's dead, remember? And besides, I have all my friends along. We'll keep each other out of trouble. Right gang?"

"Right!" "You know it." "Always." "If you say so." The answers differed in specifics or vehemence, but all were generally positive.

He looked at them for a moment. "The reason Myrtle is concerned for us is that there used to be a basilisk down there." There was another collective gasp. "Don't worry, it's been dead for years. I want you all to know the truth; not what the government approved for you to know."

Turning to the sink that had the snake engraving on the faucet, he uttered in Parseltongue, "Open up!".

Nothing happened.

Harry had allowed for this possibility. After all the things that Dumbledore had done to him, and all the lies spread by the ministry, it didn't surprise him at all that someone had tried to seal the last secret lair of Salazar Slytherin. He wasn't concerned; he gathered his magic around him until he was glowing with a rose-yellow aurora and the floor began to tremble. Then, with this terrible Aspect upon him, and his cloak and hair moving as if wind-blown, he spoke. In English. "Hogwarts Castle, I apologize for the ugly position earlier fools have put us in. I would have preferred the polite way. But examine my aura, mighty fortress, and divine my resolve. Your choice."

The group held their collective breath. Hermione struggled as if with an inner demon - clearly desperate to speak, but knowing it to be the wrong time. Luna stood aside, looking dreamily at the wall with a beatific expression on her pretty face. The section of wall she stared at was... well, _glowing_. All at once, a puff of pure magic left the glowing section of wall and washed over Luna, as if the wall had thrown a handful of glitter all over her. Turning to meet Harry's gaze, she smiled widely and spoke with a new voice, warm and earthy and clear as a bell. "Hogwarts welcomes the true heir of Godric Gryffindor, and greets you, Harry Potter. Hail."

As some hundreds of students murmured struggled to get a better view, he bowed to Luna. "Hail unto you as well, Hogwarts Castle. You were my first true home, and I am proud to call you friend."

Luna bowed and kept smiling. As if signaled, the entire crowd began applauding thunderously. "Wow!" "Hey now, did you see..." "I can't believe..." While all this was going on, the sink in question slid back smoothly to reveal the descending tube.

Harry embraced Luna tenderly. Hermione was not pleased at first, until she saw the tears of joy rolling down Luna's cheeks. Luna must have known just how she was feeling, as she reached out and pulled Hermione in to make it a three-way hug. She whispered fiercely, "I love you both." Hermione felt something like a mild static jolt through her skin.

Harry was the first to let go, having things to do. Stepping up to the hole, he shouted, "_Evanesco!_", and the slide-way was clean; a great improvement over the last time he'd been there. "C'mon, everybody! This is the fun part!" Taking Hermione in one hand and Luna in the other, he jumped into the dark tunnel; all three of them whooping with glee as they quickly slid out of sight.

/\

They all stood silently in the Chamber of Secrets, looking around in awe, as if they were in a church of some kind. That wasn't far from the truth, as this was concrete proof of things that had passed beyond legend and into forgotten lore. Harry spoke to them in his quiet, sure voice.

"In many ways, this is where it all began. This is where the very fabric of our society was first woven. The four founders used to meet in these caves, before the school was even built, to discuss just how the future of the wizarding world would be formed.

"You see, Salazar wasn't stupid. Yes, he built this chamber, and put snake statues all over the place, and put a basilisk in it. But he did not do all this to eradicate those of impure blood. Contrary to what some Slytherins would have you believe, Salazar didn't want to kill everyone who wasn't a pureblood. He just didn't want them coming to the school.

"He thought that by not releasing the potential of young witches and wizards, that he could make sure that only pure-blooded people would learn magic here, and the rest would die out. Remember, this was about 900 years before anybody knew anything at all about genetics. Nowadays, we know that you can't prevent a wizard or witch from doing magic just by keeping them ignorant. A thousand years after the school was founded, we still have accidental magic in the houses of the muggle-born."

Everybody was watching. Somehow, they had ended up with some more of the school's staff. McGonagall and Lipharvest were no longer the only ones who wanted to know.

Harry continued. "Not only was I not told about witches and wizards at all, but I spent a good deal of my younger childhood locked in a cupboard. Did that drive all the 'unnatural' magic out of me? No, of course not.

"Look around you. The basilisk that lived here was put here to protect the chamber, not to zoom about eating students. Tom Riddle opened the chamber and let the basilisk kill some students. He was a clever student here fifty years ago, but he was also a major pain in the arse."

Harry spent a few moments telling Riddle's history. Some of the folks listening were incredulous, but some just looked down shaking their heads. They knew the truth when they heard it; and it explained a goodly number of other things as well.

"Fifty years later, Riddle's disembodied spirit possessed a student here at Hogwarts, and used that student's body to re-open the chamber. Did you ever wonder why people were being petrified, but only chickens were being killed? It's because the giant snake didn't want to kill. The only reason it left its cavern in the first place is that Oldy-Git was goading it."

He paused for the giggles to stop. "That's right, I mock him. He's not a god, not a demon, but a spoiled little bully who wants to be king punk on the playground. If you don't want to call him Voldemort, that's great! It's not his name anyway. Call him Moldy-shorts, Dork Lord, Dark Lard, Snake-face, the Dark Tosser, or just plain Tom. Hell, call him an Ugly Slimy Back-Stabbing Cowardly Little Two-Faced Git. It won't matter. Word of this mockery will get back to him, and he'll know who started it. And he'll get really miffed. It'll drive him right 'round the twist. And he'll come after me. And I'll kick his scaly, skinny little arse."

In the stone hall, the approving roar of two-hundred-plus voices sounded like thousands. Luna and Hermione each had one of his hands, and seemed to be competing for who could smile the largest.

Harry let go of them long enough to hold up his hands, asking for a chance to speak again. When it was quiet enough, he spoke. "A year ago, there were those of you who thought Harry Potter was a liar, a cheat, and a glory-seeking spoiled brat. I wanted you all to see the chamber, see the basilisk, and hear my story. Now you can decide for yourself, instead of being told what to think.

"It's important that you see this... that you know that this isn't just a lark in the park. This is prep for a real war, with real death, and real monsters. A real chance you will die, and a real slobbering maniac who's really killing and maiming real people and real little babies."

He looked around at the sea of faces, raised his staff into the air, and bellowed, "_Tollo_ _sustuli sublatum!_"

Most of the large group of students and teachers fell down in the snow - because they weren't mentally prepared for appearing instantly on the Hogwarts front lawn in the middle of Winter. After all, who would have thought it? It was unthinkable. Harry Potter had just side-along-Apparated two hundred eighty-seven people. On Hogwarts grounds, where Apparation was impossible.

And he wasn't even breathing hard.

/\

A/N2: The summary of this story shows "HP/HG/LL" as the ships. If you read it anyway, and then got surprised or disappointed by the "HG" part, then you deserve everything you get.


	20. Chapter 20  To shoo the

A/N: Thanks for reading, and for the reviews.

/\

Chapter 20 - To shoo the chickens from the porch

_Wednesday, January 15th, 1997_

_He stood at the end of an anonymous stone pier; a dark, unnamed and angry sea at his back. Before him over rough sooty stone floated a vision to raise the gorge of the most hardy. He swallowed to contain the bile that sought egress, tasting his own revulsion at the horrific apparition. In appearance, it was a vague simulacrum of Voldemort._

_But it was only a vague one, and this one was larger than life. It stood at a height of ten feet, and was surrounded by an aura rivaled for repulsiveness only by the stench. The smell of a thousand corpses surrounded them, as Harry's unflinching gaze took in the scene. The figure spake._

_"The boy stood on the burning deck_

_Whence all but he had fled;_

_The flame that lit the battle's wreck_

_Shone round him o'er the dead."_

_Turning as if noticing for the first time, Harry affected a bored tone. "Oh, it's the little psychopath. What do you want now, Tom? You didn't visit me to quote poetry at me."_

_"I am not happy with you, Potter," spake the ghoulish one._

_"That's a shame, really," Harry said. He conjured a comfortable armchair and sat in it. "It's a shame, because I was just thinking the other day... 'I wonder what ol' Tom is doing. I sure hope he's happy.' "_

_"Enough of this insolence! I will not be-"_

_"Yeah, yeah, blah blah..." Harry chanted in a sing-song cadence. "Blah, blah, I am Oz the great and terrible, respect my authority, I'm gonna kill everybody, filthy blood traitors, yada yada yada. You'd play really well in Sri Lanka, shitbox. The LTTE just loves people who talk like you."_

_Sputtering in his rage, Voldemort shouted, "You will learn, brat! And then you will die! _Crucio!_" The most powerful torture spell known to wizard kind was flung with harsh power and precision directly at Harry, only to be absorbed by one of the buttons on his pajamas._

_Harry scratched himself absently beneath the button, muttering, "Did you say something, ugly? Speak up."_

_Voldemort went into a slobbering frenzy. "Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!" In response, Harry danced a little seated jig in time to the curses._

_"Pathetic whelp, you cannot possibly imagine the power I have! I can-"_

_"YOU CAN DO NOTHING, you pathetic cry-baby. Right now, I can see the eight Shite-Eaters feeding you so your little pyrotechnic dream tantrum can even reach me through the castle wards."_

_"_AVADA KED-_"_

_"Oh, do shut up," said Harry. He'd made a pinching motion in front of him, and Voldemort's mouth clapped shut. Not from force, but from utter shock. The Dark Lord's face reflected his puzzlement. He was beginning to doubt. How could this whelp possibly know about true power? True control?_

_Harry spoke quietly. "I am living a nice life and attending school. You are on the run and hiding. So which one of us is the weakling? Which of us is the true coward, puss-boy?"_

_Voldemort tried again, "_AVADA KEDAVRA!" _This time Harry let him finish. Riddle's face started a smirk as the green bolt traveled in slow motion towards the Boy Who Lived. But the smirk was short-lived. Harry's new mental processing, combined with his knowledge of the composition and physics of magic, gave him the complete upper hand. Without moving, he transfigured the killing curse into something else, and then re-routed it right back at old Snake-Bait._

"_What-" said the confused face of the simulacrum. "What is – aah, aaaaagh, Aaaagh!" The screaming got louder and louder, as the apparition dropped its wand and began tearing at its clothing._

"_Easy," said Harry, calm on the pier in his pajamas. "I diluted your spell. So instead of a second or two of utter destruction, it's now an hour of near-death and pain. You see," he began nodding, as if giving a class. "You see, it's still your curse. It's still unforgivable, and it's still unblockable, and there's still no counter curse. But now you get to feel it spread out over an hour of torture, instead of a second of death."_

_Harry sensed that the eight Death Eaters supporting their Lord with their magic were also suffering, screaming, unable to move. "I'll just leave you to your thoughts, then... shall I?"_

And with that, Harry ended the dream and the intrusion. He carefully stored the entire memory into his pensieve, before smiling and laying back down for some rest.

/\

_Saturday, January 18th, 1997_

It was a Hogsmeade day. Although quite cold, the day was sunny and bright and promised fun in the town. The students milled all around, picking up bits of candy, jokes, drinks, school supplies, and even jewelry for some of them.

Harry was in a private room at the Hog's Head. Flanked by Hermione and Luna, he sat on one side of a long table. On the other side were five members of the wizarding world's media establishment.

"Thanks for coming, everybody," he said. "Please help yourselves to whatever refreshments you wish; I'll keep 'em coming." One thing he had learned after the Triwizard Tournament was that the easiest way to get the press on your side was to keep them lubed up with food and drink. Reporters could drink a lot; but if you could keep up with the bar tab, you could ask them for nearly anything.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," said a tall, muscular man with short dark hair. "My name is Hercules Gilderdale, Daily Prophet. If it's all right with you, the group has agreed that I should lead off-"

"No, Mr. Gilderdale," Harry said to cut him off.

"- with the questions and the discussion." The reporter carried on as if nothing had been said. "All in order? Shall I begin? Good. Mr. Potter, when-"

"Shut up and get out," Harry said in a quiet calm voice.

"I hardly think so, young man. You are the Boy Who Lived, and the public has a right to-"

"The public has a _right_ to nothing of mine." The older man froze, literally petrified by Harry's will. His Quick Quotes Quill, however, continued scratching madly away on a parchment in front of him. Harry pointed a finger, and both quill and parchment burst into rapid flame, then ash. Throwing a handful of powder into the floo, he said into the green flame, "Barnabas Cuffe, Editor, The Daily Prophet".

After a few seconds, a woman's voice responded. "Pauline Jagger, Assistant to the Editor. How may I help you?"

Harry's posture, quite relaxed in his chair at the table, was deceptively calm. "You may not. I didn't call you. Get him."

"I'm afraid Mr. Cuffe is a very busy man, and doesn't like to be disturbed. Perhaps if you could make-"

"Gentlemen, if you would excuse me for a moment. I'll return directly." Harry stood, still not raising his voice. He vanished without a sound.

Suddenly, the remaining four members of the press - along with Luna and Hermione - could hear quite clearly through the floo a disturbance taking place at the offices of The Daily Prophet. "What are you doing?" "Get out of-" "Hey, get your hands off my-" "What's going on?" "Oh, Merlin! That's-"

Just as abruptly, the rotund body of Mr. Barnabas Cuffe came tumbling out of the floo and onto the floor, great clouds of sooty dust settling around him. His appearance was that of someone who had just been thrown bodily through the floo - which he had. Harry appeared once more, silently and out of nowhere. He bent and picked up the editor by his collar, much like grabbing a dog by the scruff of his neck. He kept lifting until the man was hanging by his collar, trembling, his feet dangling above the floor.

Supporting a full-grown wizard in one hand, at arm's length, didn't seem to discommode Harry in the least. He asked the old man, "Mr. Cuffe, can you vanquish Voldemort?"

The old man cringed as if struck, shaking his head.

"No? Hmm... then, I suppose you would like me, the Boy Who Lived, to defeat the current Dork Lord for you?"

Cuffe started wheezing and nodding. He clearly wanted the famous Harry Potter to take out Voldemort. "Please..." before he tapered off.

"Please what, Mr. Cuffe? Please make bad old Voldemort go away? Please be strong and brave and powerful and victorious?"

The editor began nodding his head, to the degree that his awkward collar-based suspension made it possible.

"Hmm... I'm confused, Mr. Editor. Help me understand something." Without getting louder, Harry's voice got much... _colder_. "If you are afraid of Voldemort, and wouldn't dream of doing anything to make him angry... just exactly how do you reckon it is safe to offend _me_, the only human being on Earth who can kick his arse?"

The dangling editor stopped kicking and went limp, his complexion going pasty.

Harry spoke again. "Didn't think of that, did you?" Cuffe's head shook slowly from side to side. "Well, that makes you too dumb to be in charge of a major wizarding newspaper. You're fired." He dropped the cowering man unceremoniously to the floor. Releasing Gilderdale from his spell, he said, "You, too."

Harry turned to the fireplace. "Miss Jagger, are you listening?"

"Y-y-yes, Mr. Potter," came the hesitant reply.

"Mr. Jenkins, are you there?"

"Yes sir," came a much more firm reply from the same floo.

"Mr. Jenkins," continued Harry, "Cuffe, Gilderdale and Jagger are discharged from my service effective immediately. Make sure Jagger doesn't take anything belonging to me when she leaves the building. Gilderdale and Cuffe are not to be allowed re-entry into my building under any circumstances."

"Right you are, gov."

"Good. Make it happen." Harry waved his hand and closed the floo connection.

Turning to the remaining journalists in the room, he said, "I bought the Prophet this morning. I will announce my choice for the new editor when I have decided. Please let your colleagues and editors of your respective publications know that these three are not to be re-hired at any level above janitor, by any publication - wizard or muggle - in Great Britain. If I discover they are working in journalism in any form, my reaction will be much like what you just saw."

He glowered at the two ex-Propheteers until they started, looking up to see a green-eyed menace, with two competent witches pointing wands at them. They stumbled for the door, whimpering.

"Thank you, ladies," he said, bowing to each in turn. "Now, to continue. I called this press conference because I have some things that I think you should know..."

Harry spent another hour speaking, while his guests ate and drank, and their quills scratched away with everything he said. He told them of the Death Eaters on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, of Dumbledore's crimes and subsequent arrest, and of his intent to do away with Voldemort.

"Therefore, gentlemen, I'm giving rather a 'come-and-get-it' sort of message to old Pus-face. I would appreciate it if each of you would print the following: I challenge Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, to a Wizard's End Duel. April 1st, 1997, at 8 am, at Hogwarts' front gate, to be fought until one or both of us is dead. He may bring as many 'seconds', sycophants and bully-boys as he wishes; it won't matter. This ends on April 1st. In accordance with the ancient du Hiquee code - which is still in force of law - if he does not respond in thirty-six hours, his answer will be recorded as refusal; all of his properties, lands, chattels become automatically awarded to the House of Potter, and his wand shall be forfeit. Personally, I think he's too much of a coward to show up."

"Mr. Potter," said one of the reporters. "I don't know if my editor will print this, even if you do a Gilderdale on 'im." The group laughed. "He'll be afraid that we'll be vulnerable to a Dark Lord attack."

"Voldemort will know this for what it is; a formal challenge under Canly. He will not follow the rules, but he will pretend to, because he will think it will leave us unprepared. You can quote me on this: If he attacks the newspapers posting this, then he proves himself to be a craven, petty child, and a mental midget. That counts for him and his chicken-shit followers. There, that should do it."

Harry took some more questions before the reporters took their leave. He settled the bill and took his girls in hand before transporting them back to the castle.


	21. Chapter 21  Only the true messiah

A/N: Thanks for reading, everybody.

/\

Chapter 21 - Only the true messiah denies his divinity!

Later that afternoon, Harry showed the memory at the brigade meeting, using his solicitors' pensieve. "Any questions?"

Hermione spoke up first, though hesitantly. "Harry, Voldemort doesn't dare ignore this, right?" Harry nodded.

"Why not?" asked Lisa Turpin. "Why would a Dark Lord worry about challenges from a school kid? He won't worry about the ancient rules, or whatever; he doesn't care about laws."

Harry said, "Because his followers are still outnumbered about a hundred to one. In order for him to continue to get more recruits, he has to make them believe that he's utterly invincible and not afraid of anything or anyone. If he doesn't show, he'll stop getting new followers, and maybe even some of the current ones will leave."

He paused for a bit, to let that gel in their minds. "Don't worry, everyone. No one here will be in any real danger, although it will certainly look like you are. Our defenses will take out everyone but Riddle, and Riddle won't waste his time on anyone but me."

Blaise asked, "What are these defenses going to be?"

"Well, that's a bit of a sticky wicket. Even though I trust you, Blaise, it's possible that two of you would discuss the defenses somewhere else. There are listening charms all over this castle. Yes, everywhere," he added, seeing their looks of disgust. "Every time you sit on the throne to... well... play the tuba," - they giggled at that - "somebody is listening. Some good, some bad, some just being nosy for gossip. There are also ghosts in this castle, not always visible, who can hear what you say. So it's safer that you don't know."

"How do we know there _are_ defenses?" asked someone at the back. "Do we just take _your_ word for it?"

_Finally,_ thought Harry, _somebody starting to think._ "No, I don't want you to take my word for it. By all means, go right ahead and put together your own castle defense plans. Form groups, action committees, make wards, booby traps, curse the vegetation. Anything you like!" He brightened. "I welcome all the help you are willing to provide, and I hope you are all willing."

Stepping onto the dais, he spake loudly. "I have one critical task that will involve each and every breathing soul in this room. This task must be performed, and there will be no excuse for failure." Looking around to ensure he had their attention, he continued. "Everyone here is responsible for his own defense. I will defend this castle, but there are too many of you for me to individually defend. You, Ernie..." he pointed. "You, Blaise... You, Lisa... All of you. I want all of you to keep breathing."

/\

Once the news of Harry's challenge was out, the mood of the school changed again. Where they had been cheerful and optimistic at Harry's return, now the feel was charged... almost electric. An undercurrent of tension underscored every class, every hallway conversation, every broom cupboard encounter.

The wizarding world had hoped for over sixteen years for their new messiah. They had believed, in principle, in the 'someday' appearance of the Boy Who Lived to somehow defeat the latest Dark Lord. Nobody agreed on just what form that 'defeat' would take, but the general consensus was that it would somehow happen.

Now, however, it was different. The imminent duel was staring them all in the face; demanding their belief in stark reality, rather than abstract holistic fairy tales.

Many, of course, dismissed the whole thing as ludicrous. People like Malfoy, Nott, and their cohorts didn't even bother hiding their scoffing. The very idea that a pale, skinny little half-blood could pose a problem for their master! The temerity! He would be put in his place, and the quicker the better.

Others rejoiced in what they saw as simple fulfillment of prophesy. Harry was going to win. It was pre-ordained, right? How could it be otherwise? Everyone knows it.

The minority - those in the habit of thinking - were worried. They were all in favor of Harry having a major victory and living happily ever after... but how? How could they be sure? How could a young teenager save the world?

Hermione and Luna had spent quite a bit of time together, with and without Harry. Luna now carried a manifestation of the conscious persona of the spirit of Hogwarts Castle within her. It was as if every odd-ball quirk and bit of strange behavior had been to prepare her for this moment. She had always looked a bit holistic, but now she looked... holy. Positively beatific, she walked with a peaceful glide that drew attention wherever she went. Sometimes, she even glowed.

One would have expected Hermione to be the one who worried. How could Harry win this? Wasn't that too much pressure to put on one poor teen aged boy? However, instead of becoming worried, she had been completely won over by Luna. Being present at the transmogrification of their friend Luna, all logical arguments had been stripped away from her. What was the point of arguing that something was impossible when she had stood and watched it happen in stark reality? Even stubborn bookishness had given way to Luna's gentle persuasion.

Now, Hermione and Luna were Harry's staunchest supporters. Harry was the strength, brains and honor; his two ladies were peace, love, and beauty.

Which was why Harry wasn't entirely taken by surprise when the two came to him in the Room of Requirement for what would later be remembered as "the Talk".

"Harry, do you have a moment?"

"Hi, Hermione. Hello, Luna." Harry noticed that Luna was... well, there were no other words for it: she was wearing her Hogwarts Aspect. "Hello, Freddie."

Luna blushed so deeply, her ears seemed almost purple - but her shy smile showed she was pleased. "Freddie?" she asked.

"Yes, Freddie," said Harry. "I saw from your face that Hogwarts was manifesting itself through you again. I know that, when Godric Gryffindor was infusing you with magic and protection, he thought of the castle as female, and liked to call her 'Winifred' when no one was listening. Am I right?"

She blushed even more, and looked down at the floor. "Yes, Harry."

"Very well," he finished. "Since 'Winifred' is a bit out of fashion, I thought I would call you Freddie. That is, as long as you don't mind."

Luna's voice was a whisper by now, overcome with emotion. "Thank you, that will be fine."

"Good." He turned to Hermione. "What do you need?"

"Harry, could we go to... I mean, could you show...?" Clearly, Hermione was asking Harry to reveal his home to Luna, even though Hermione didn't really know where it was either.

Harry studied the auras of all three females present - even though one was somewhat less than corporeal - and realized something. Hermione, Luna and Winifred (the spirit of Hogwarts) obviously all loved him unreservedly. He had known that already. But almost as important, they now loved each other. He held out his arms, and the two girls rushed in to hold him tightly. "Dobby," he said aloud.

His elven friend appeared before him, beaming. "Dobby, I shall need a nice late snack for three at my place in a few minutes."

"Of course, Master Harry," Dobby said with obvious glee. "It shall be done forthwith." And he disappeared with a pop.

Hermione looked at him closely, brows furrowed. "And just why is Dobby speaking the Queen's English with such a posh accent now?"

Harry shook his head, "No, that's the wrong question. Freddie, what's the right question?"

Luna answered immediately with her question, "Why do the other elves speak English so poorly?"

"Excellent question. And the answer is simply because nobody takes any time to teach them. Small-minded people get a charge out of watching a powerful magical creature talk baby-talk. It makes them feel superior." He waved his hand airily, and the three of them were standing in the vestibule of his little under-hill home. "Come, let us have tea." He limped in front of them, leading the way to his den.

The two young women took their places at either side of Harry, whilst he walked into his den with no sense of self-consciousness at all. When he sat at the center of his davenport, Dobby brought the snack tray in to set on the table while Hermione sat at his right side, and Luna at his left.

As natural as if they'd been doing it like this all their lives, Luna reached and presented Harry with a tiny pastry, whereupon Hermione handed him a cup of tea. "Thank you, ladies," he intoned, quite nonchalant. "Now, I believe you two wanted to talk about something?"

"Harry," began Luna. "Do you know who I am?"

Harry looked at her. "Yes. You are my dear friend Luna, close to my heart, a clever and powerful witch, a very beautiful young woman, and a little wacky in a very endearing way. You are also carrying a manifestation of the conscious spirit of Hogwarts, third most powerful magical structure on Earth-"

"Third?" interrupted Freddie, clearly nonplussed.

"- _third_ most powerful magical structure on Earth," repeated Harry rather firmly, "said manifestation also being a very beautiful woman, with over a thousand years of exposure to magical learning. Now, Luna... do you think I missed anything?"

"We'll come back to that 'third' in a moment, Harry. Now, do you know why I followed you into the Department of Mysteries last year?"

Harry looked at her quickly, and his saucy retort died a-borning, because he saw something new in her aura. Something that Luna had hidden from him before. Something that changed... well, changed a great deal.

Luna was in love with Harry. And not just hormonally-assisted admiration, or sisterly affection. Luna's entire being was now dedicated to the simple but life-altering purpose of being in love with Harry Potter. Harry could see that, though he hadn't seen it before, this was not a new thing for Luna.

Harry wasn't ready for the naked, unstoppable power that he saw in her aura. He couldn't keep eye contact. _Doesn't she know?_ he thought. _Don't they all know? Can't they see it's all phony? All an act?_ He began to tremble, and his eyes closed. His psyche was retreating... retreating... He could hear nothing but a roaring in his ears. He could feel nothing but the pain of his tiny, broken arm, held tightly against his chest to keep it from moving, and the chill of the unheated cupboard under the stairs, and the wetness of the tears coursing down his cheeks.

_I don't understand,_ he thought. _Maybe if I can be very quiet, they'll forget about me, and stop hurting me for a while._ His trembling got stronger, until his shivering was quite violent. _Nothing to see here,_ he thought, crying. _Just keep walking by. Don't notice me, don't hit me, don't hurt me... don't... _

_Don't think about me._

/\

A/N2: As far as the Canly/Kanly comment goes, my story takes place 8,000 years before that convention in that other story, so I'll use whatever I want.

A/N3: Yes, it is tremendous fun to make Harry super. That is why there are so many super!Harry fics on this site.

A/N4: After re-reading this chapter, I realize that I didn't actually explain what the other two most powerful magical structures were. Oh, well.

A/N5: tashriia discovered that I'd had Pansy in this chapter, when she has already left the school. Fixed.


	22. Chapter 22  Usil no longer needs

A/N: Thanks for reading, everybody.

/\

Chapter 22 - Usil no longer needs the wierding module

Still on the sofa beside him, the two young women were shouting. "Dobby, help us!" "Harry, it's okay-" "I'm sorry, Harry-" "Harry, it's just us, we're your friends-" "We're here to help-" "Dobby, has he been like this before?"

"No, Missy," cried Dobby, wringing his long fingers.

The room around them was thrumming, as if there were a large machine under the room. The vibrations got stronger, and stronger, and stronger still until they became like a small earthquake. The little cups and saucers of the tea set began rattling, then the furniture was rattling about on the floor, and then -

Darkness. Cold. The distant creaking of wood. "_Avada_ _Kedavra!_" The screaming of a woman, over and over. "Kill the spare!" The distant whimper of a small child, nearby, and trying to be quiet...

"Come with me," Luna said. Hermione was startled to see a small area become illuminated by Freddie's aura. The two walked in the direction indicated by the magical young woman. "We're in Harry's Hell, you see? He has been here thousands of times before. But his power is greater than any living wizard; he doesn't realize that he brought us in here with him."

Hermione noted that, although their footsteps sounded normal, she couldn't tell how far they had walked... when Luna's hand stopped her. She looked up, and beheld a boy, crying.

He was in the fetal position, though whether for warmth or protection she couldn't determine. He appeared to be about 6 years old, dressed in filthy rags that he would never grow to fit. His frame was pitifully slight, showing the near-starvation level he existed in. His keening was very quiet, and all the more heart-wrenching because of that.

Freddie said, "This is also Harry Potter." She needn't have said anything; there was no doubt. Luna knelt beside the little boy, and reached out to touch his shoulder. The boy immediately flinched violently, and crawled quickly away, eyes wide with fear. Freddie reached out again in this dream state of a wounded mind, and touched his shoulder again; as though he hadn't moved. "Harry, you have to let us go. You're hurting Luna, Hermione and Dobby."

The keening stopped. The little boy stopped shivering and stood. In a voice much deeper and more resonant that the one he'd used for crying, he said, "I see."

With no transition, they were back in Harry's living room. The furnishings seemed to be normal again; no fallen crockery or moving furniture. Just a nice fire dancing merrily in the grate.

Harry was on the floor. "I see," he said again. There was a quiet moment of wonder written upon his visage, showing that he had managed to grasp an understanding of some great truth. That is, until his face returned to that bland, cynical expression with which they had all recently come to be familiar.

"I'm alright now, Dobby."

"Great Wizard Master Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby's distress caused him to lapse into his earlier, poorer, speech patterns. "Dobby didn't know what to do!"

"My friend, you may as well come and join us," Harry said. "I have to explain something to all of you." He waved his hands, and the floor was suddenly much more comfortable, owing to a newly-conjured proliferation of oriental pillows and cushions.

"Freddie, you know what that was, don't you?"

"Yes, Harry." Luna's face had never looked more lucid.

"Ladies, that dark place you just saw is the innermost chamber of my mind. Some of the books I have read this past summer have helped me to understand that this... gestalt... is the raw kernel of my person. The base core upon which I have built who I am, and who I choose to be."

Hermione started in, "Harry, you need to get some serious help! You can't just keep going on with that-" and she stopped dead, seeing the look on Harry's face. "I'm sorry, Harry. Please continue." She even had the grace to blush a little.

"Hermione, given the knowledge that I have gathered in the last months, I am more qualified to decide whether I can 'just keep going' than any other human on the planet." He touched Dobby on the shoulder, then took a girl's hand in each of his own.

He continued. "Some lesser mind-scramblers might conclude that I have a split personality disorder. They would be wrong. Split personalities are something entirely different. The Harry Potter you see, and the one you have seen for the last six years, is a veneer.

"Now, everyone you know has a veneer... a mask, if you will. Some of us do it to protect ourselves, while some of us reinforce our masks until they make a lovely protective shell. You should know first-hand that there are very few things capable of even scratching the shell I've built in the last year.

"This isn't something that can be 'cured', Hermione, because there isn't anything wrong. You know how a pearl comes into being? The oyster secreting more and more layers to protect itself from the little irritant on its soft tissue? Well, I wouldn't consider this shell to be an illness, any more than the oyster's method of dealing with bits of sand. Just remember that, if you ever felt the need to saw away at the beautiful pearl's layers to see the middle, it is quite likely that you'd be presented with something very small and ugly."

He paused for a moment, giving them time to think about this. "You three are not the only ones who have seen my... that place. Snape saw it during our so-called lessons on Occlumency. Voldemort saw it through the connection that existed through my scar. I'm moderately sure that Dumbledore saw it. It's not really a secret. But it's not something that requires advertisement, either. Okay?"

Harry and Hermione saw the change in Luna's visage that told them Freddie was talking now. "Harry Potter, you are the Leader now." Harry could hear the capital 'L'. "You are the one the wizarding world will follow, and you are the one who now has the trust of Hogwarts Castle. You have both the power and the will to become the world's first 'Light Lord'. Tomorrow, if you wished." She held up a hand to forestall Harry's protest. "The fact that you do not wish it is part of what makes it true."

Luna's voice continued. "Your humanity makes Hermione love you. Your empathy makes Luna love you. Your lack of prejudice makes Dobby love you. And your utter unwillingness to entertain any thoughts of not doing the right thing makes Hogwarts - Freddie - love you."

Harry thought for a bit, before replying. "Girls, I cannot let that shell crumble again - not even for you. I have to be the big cheese, even when I think there's no more cheese in the shop."

Hermione said, "I guess you're right, in a way. At least, I can see what you mean. The people of both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds need a hero, Harry. You have to be seen as unfailing, infallible, undefeatable, and larger than life."

Luna added, "The fact that you're a total hunk doesn't hurt."

The three laughed at that, before Harry turned to a serious question. "Freddie, Luna, Hermione," he began. Luna met his gaze. "You know I will protect and defend all of you to the extent that I can - and I can do a lot." The girls nodded. "But... I already have a girlfriend!"

"Harry," said Hermione. "We aren't asking anything of you. We just wanted to let you know that you have three women who love you, are _in_ love with you, and will be with you, if you'll allow it, in any way you wish, and as many ways as you permit."

Luna said, "Hogwarts Castle is in love with you, Harry, and wants to be part of your life, just like I do."

"Freddie," Harry said. "How do you feel yourself fitting in?"

Freddie's words were quiet, but rang with the truth of the ages. "You are my liege, my lord and my love. I would be part of you in any way that you permit."

"Luna, Freddie's feelings aside for a moment, what about you?"

Luna said, "Harry, I was never able to say it on my own, but you already saw from my aura that I have loved you for a long time. Freddie and I are of one mind on this."

The four souls, in three bodies, had a lot to consider as they spent a peaceful evening chatting in Harry's home.

/\

At precisely one minute past midnight, the girls were awakened by Harry moving to get off the davenport. Groggy, Hermione rubbed an eye and asked, "Harry, what's wrong?"

"I have to do a thing, very quickly."

"But-"

Luna said, "Of course. May we see?"

"Stand up, please," was his reply. "Quickly, now." They complied, standing in their night attire. Harry waved, and they were all instantly dressed in heavy grey winter clothes, suitable for a jaunt in the country. Before either of them could comment, he said, "Don't be afraid."

And... they were all standing on a country lane, perhaps one hundred feet in front of the Burrow. Five Death Eaters stood casting spells together in a steady stream, which showed a splashing impact on a ward. A sixth dark figure stood somewhat behind them, chanting the wards to prevent magical transport. They were attempting an attack here, while preventing anyone from using portkeys, or the floo, or apparation.

Harry was given pause only momentarily by the sight of a silver hand

Using his mind in his own variant of Legilimency, Harry spoke to the minds of all those within the house. _Weasleys, are you awake?_

He could hear their replies, and adjusted the spell to allow Luna and Hermione to hear as well. "Harry, is that you? You have to get away from here! The wards will be down any moment... Call the Aurors, or get Dumbledore!"

_Your help is already here,_ he replied silently. _Come to the parlor window and watch._ He waited until he could see Arthur and Molly move to the window. The children were all at school, so it was just the two of them. Then he took action by waving his free hand. The weak anti-apparation and anti-portkey chant being put out by Pettigrew was replaced by a permanent, complete ward - but not the one Peter expected.

Six figures jerked in alarm, then spun around to discern who had changed the situation. They saw Harry, and one said, "Potter! Our lord will reward us greatly for bringing you. Get him!" The small group spread out, to make a harder target.

Harry limped around to the center of the group. He knew they could see him, but not the two girls watching from the thicket. Pettigrew impatiently pointed and screamed, "_Avada_ _Kedavra!_", a bit of spittle flying from his mouth. The sickly green beam of light thus released headed straight for where Harry had stepped - except that Harry wasn't there anymore. Having stepped to the side, the group watched in amazement as the Death Eater on the other side of Harry dropped silently, quite dead.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said Harry, and suddenly he stood directly before another one of them. He waggled his index finger at the mask of the Death Eater, and the mask disappeared. A new face; not someone Harry recognized. Harry pointed his finger again, and the man fell dead.

There was quite a lot of shouting of curses, and many bolts of colored light and sound moving quickly; but none of them were quite quick enough to match Harry's movement. He didn't appear to be moving very quickly; just anticipating their actions and moving to stay just where he needed to be.

Stepping on to the next man, he repeated the de-masking procedure. "Marcus, how nice to see you again. I'll be with you in a moment."

Harry moved through the group, identifying and decapitating all but Marcus Flint, saving Pettigrew for next to last. "Rat-boy, I wish I had more time to spend with you, but you're not worth it." He vanished the traitor's head, removed the silver arm, and presented it to Flint. "Marcus, please take this back to its owner, and be sure and let him know what happened here. Oh, and one more thing: _Reducto._" The simple but powerful blasting curse reduced the legs of the last remaining live Death Eater to bloody pulp and viscera. Harry waved again and the young would-be terrorist Flint disappeared, just as his screaming began.

Harry sighed and released the barrier that was keeping Hermione and Luna away from the scene of battle. The two young women approached him; one serene and one looking rather frightened.

"Harr-" said Hermione. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Harry, you didn't have to-"

"Yes, he did," interrupted Luna's voice, but it was the aspect of Freddie.

"But..." Hermione trailed off, wanting to ask.

"But why?" said Harry. "Think. Stop reacting and think." Hermione reared back as if slapped, taking a sharp breath. "Stop thinking about what is 'nice', what is 'proper', what is 'good'. Freddie, how does one deal with a bully?"

"Punch him in the nose in front of a crowd of witnesses, to show the world that he has no power over them. He is then no longer a bully."

"Hermione," he said, turning. "How does one deal with a terrorist?"

"Well... the same way, I would think. Isn't that-"

"No," Harry said gently. "A terrorist is not a bully. A terrorist causes violence, mayhem, chaos, in order to achieve some objective, some form of change. If you punch him in the nose, he just gets more sneaky. If you lock him up, even for life, he just poisons the minds of others in prison until they are released to carry on the campaign. And you can talk and reason with a terrorist until you have no breath left in you, to no avail.

"No, dear. The only _effective_ way to deal with a terrorist is to kill him, and make an example of him. Make the world see that he is dead, his cause is ridiculous or laughable, and was not successful. So I have one more chore to do tonight."

While Hermione thought this over, Harry waved the hand holding his staff. The bodies of the dead Death Eaters were transfigured into a dirty brown stone - the color of dung - and fashioned into a tableau. A stone diorama, of sorts. In the center was a white marble candle. Cowering, mouths open in terror, the stone bodies shied away from the symbolic light.

Luna smiled, the Ravenclaw brain seeing the symbolism first. Scratching his chin for dramatic effect, Harry waggled his finger and an inscription appeared in the stone:

DEATH EATERS?  
>SO BE IT<br>LET THEM EAT DEATH


	23. Chapter 23  While strange creepy

A/N: Thanks to all for reading and reviewing.

/\

Chapter 23 - While strange creepy creatures came out of their dens...

_Wednesday, January 22, 1997_

It was the time of the breakfast meal. The ceiling of the Hogwarts Great Hall showed a shade of grey that was almost completely uniform. By looking of the charmed ceiling, one could not tell where the grey sky ended and the grey winter ground haze began.

Harry, Hermione and Luna had taken to eating at the front end of the Gryffindor or Ravenclaw tables, nearest the teacher's dais, where the first year students normally gathered. Where the stares and frightened whispers of ickle firsties may once have annoyed Harry, he now preferred it to the stares and frightened whispers of the rest of their house.

On this particular day, they were at the Gryffindor table, having a quiet meal with their friends, when a murmur rose above the noise of cutlery on plates. Looking up, Harry noticed that two chairs at the teachers' table were being filled; those of the Headmaster and the Potions Master. And not with their replacements, either, but the original occupants.

Dumbledore and Snape had returned. Saying nothing, they sat to breakfast on the cold Wednesday morning, while those in the hall around them tried to make sense of what they were seeing. Neville Longbottom in particular was especially interested - he appeared to be quaking in a cold sweat and shaking his head side-to-side.

Harry didn't seem at all surprised to see his head of house standing at his elbow. "Harry," she whispered through clenched teeth. "The Headmaster has instructed me to convey to you that he wishes you to report to his office after breakfast." He had never seen her so distressed.

Glancing at his two companions, he said quietly, "Here we go." He then turned his head and leaned back so that he could be seen and heard from the head table. Speaking clearly, just loud enough to be heard, he said, "If Fudge wants to try to railroad me, he can come down out of that office and do it in front of witnesses. No, thank you." He turned back to his plate, displaying no interest at all.

Just as anyone could have predicted, the first outburst came from Snape. "Potter!" he spat. "Insolent, self-absorbed little-"

"Coward," interjected Harry.

Snape sputtered, rising from the chair he just occupied. "W-what? What did you just say, whelp?"

"I said 'coward', you coward." Harry stood, leaning upon his staff. "A coward who gets his rocks off by bullying little children." He made a pinching motion with his free hand, and Snape started turning pink. This may well have been the only time any student had seen any color in his cheeks besides green. Harry limped to stand before the center of the table. "Coward, weakling, liar... hardly more than a squib."

A collective gasp was heard throughout the hall. For a student to say such things was... unthinkable. For anyone to say such things to Snape, of all people, was nearly unimaginable. But for an emancipated legal adult to say them was grounds for a duel.

"In fact," he continued. "I would suspect you of bestiality, but you're so greasy that no self-respecting sow would let you mount it."

This time, the response was much more than a gasp. It was a loud groan, interspersed with gleeful comments at his profanation. "What?" "Whoa!" "No way!"

Harry said, "Severus Snape, I challenge you to a duel, here and now. The loser leaves Hogwarts, nevermore to return. What say you, you porphyritic pus-bag?" Then he released his magical hold on the darkening teacher, letting him breathe again.

Snape started coughing, getting as much wind as he could back into his deprived lungs. With a wild look in his eye, he started "_Ava-_'

"Severus!" called Dumbledore sharply, stopping his potions master from finishing the curse that would send him to Azkaban for life.

"Very well!" growled the reinstated Potions Master through his stressed throat. "The hard way, then... _Sectusempra!_" He sent his trademark cutting curse toward the Boy-Who-Lived. "_Reducto! Sectusempra! Confringo! Defodio! Deprimo! Expulso!_" Snape had started with his trademark cutting curse, but his mouth didn't stop moving. He walked down from the dais, casting all the time, a barrage of spells coming from his wand.

Harry was walking with the aid of his staff, and held a muggle pencil in his other hand. No one had seen him draw it. Snape was cursing so quickly that his spells hadn't time to land before the next was begun. He moved with a fluidity that none would have suspected of him, his long cloak partially masking his movements.

Harry continued in a much different manner. He knew that were he to use the method he'd used against the Death Eaters at the entrance of the Burrow, innocent students could be hit by Snape's fire. So he stood still, waving his pencil as if conducting an invisible orchestra. He appeared to be defending himself with spells that could not be seen, but that was not the case. His "wand" movements were meaningless, to confuse and enrage his enemy. Using only his mind, he was directing Snape's magic to harmless destinations, or transfiguring them into harmless light _en route_.

Taking time to magically amplify his own voice, Harry kept speaking - now loud enough for all to hear. "That's some pretty nice dancing, you nasty, spotted prancer. Where'd you learn to move like that? It certainly wasn't at charm school," he waved his wand to deflect a brown curse that smelled off. "And it _definitely_ wasn't here at Hogwarts, since they don't actually teach fighting here."

"Mister Potter," complained Dumbledore. "That is quite enough! Stop this in-"

"Dumbledore," interrupted Harry, seeming not to be working very hard. "Are you actually trying to interfere with or subvert a wizard's duel, in violation of the Acts of Canly and the law? Come now, don't stammer," he said as Dumbledore momentarily lost his words. "Are you actually stupid enough to violate the dueling act in front of over four hundred witnesses? Hmm..." he said, then, "Oh! No, that was very naughty, Sevvie-poo. A bowel-loosening curse?" He continued to walk slowly toward Snape, taunting him.

The greasy Potions Master appeared to be going quite mad; spittle flying from his mouth with every doom-laden utterance, his greasy hair flapping quite vehemently past the wild look in his eyes. "You're nothing but a spoiled little brat! You have nothing! No talent," boom "no knowledge," boom "no intelligence, no _family_," BOOM, "no URK!" Snape collapsed forward gagging, having just had a boot connect sharply with the soft, dangly collection of objects in his trousers.

A small, rather pathetic, high-pitched whine came from the gullet of the man kneeling before Harry, as the air was driven from Snape's lungs by a panicked diaphragm. He was still conscious, but had dropped his wand.

"You really are a very petty, cowardly, small-minded little pissant, aren't you, Snape?" Harry asked, still under _sonorus_ to the entire hall. "I have seen the memory accounts of when you joined Voldemort, and took the dark mark, and became Moldy-Goit's little apple-polisher. You told yourself you'd get them all, didn't you? You'd get the ones who taunted you in school. You'd make them _pay_," Harry said, pounding his staff to the floor for emphasis. The hall was deathly silent, students trying to hide behind each other with nowhere to go.

"Aurors!" came the voice of Cornelius Fudge, having come down to find out why Harry hadn't come up. "Arrest that boy immediately! I saw you assault that man!" He flinched in fright when most of the people in the hall started yelling and pointing at him. Too late, he realized there were no aurors within the sound of his voice. They had stayed in the office to wait for the young man.

Harry wasn't finished. "Snape, my father humiliated you because he was an arse-hole. I saw what he did, and it made me ashamed." This was said quietly, without the benefit of the _sonorus_ spell, just between the two of them.

"Pot- Potter! Just like your father!" The wounded man managed to wheeze a few words.

"I am not my father. I am humiliating you because _you_ are an arse-hole, and a bully, and an unrepentant terrorist, and an all-around creep. Years from now, I shall honor this memory with pride, and two generations of Hogwarts Alumni will call me 'hero'. You have until sundown to gather your things."

"You arrogant little prig," said Snape, much stronger. Harry saw that he had recovered his wand. "You think you have the power to remove me? _Sectusem-_"

He never got to finish the word, as the blunt end of Harry's walking staff broke Snape's jaw, loosening a few teeth into the bargain.

"Never mind then; courtesy doesn't seem to work on you. Now you may leave right away. By the way, you may want to find a new 'signature spell'," said Harry. "That one takes you way too long to say." He waved his pencil for effect, and Snape's rocketing body smashed a very old casement window on its way out of the castle.

Both Fudge and Dumbledore tried to take some sort of control, but nothing they said was even heard above the roar. Four-hundred-plus students, and a couple dozen of the faculty, shouted and cheered their approval, slamming cups on the tables, stamping their feet, and whistling. It was some long moments before any speaking was possible. Harry waited patiently.

"Potter! I-" began Fudge, but he stopped when he saw Dumbledore's raised hand.

"Cornelius, please. Perhaps a... a lighter touch is in order. Harry," he said. "Have you done something to my office? The warding and protections no longer function. Most of the monitoring devices appear to be broken, and the gargoyle will not close off the moving staircase. Could you put them back in order?"

Harry stared. "I'm not sure what you mean. You don't have an office in this castle."

"Alright, Potter; we've taken just about enough out of you," butted in the minister. "Undo whatever it was you did, and do it quick. You're only making it worse for yourself!"

Harry's left eyebrow rose about a quarter of an inch. "You don't understand; I don't have anything to do with it. The entity that is Hogwarts no longer recognizes Mister Dumbledore as Headmaster - nor indeed as holding any other position. The castle has decided that he doesn't belong here."

"Now see here," bellowed the reddening face of the minister, his dewflaps wobbling ominously. "That's enough of... Albus, you just have to... I mean..." his eyes grew as his voice shrank. Pointing to the entrance, he said, "What... what's going on?"

Madame Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE, strode down the center of the hall, followed by at least ten aurors (although the crowd made it hard to be certain).

"Cornelius Oswald Fudge," she began. "By order of the Queen of England, you are removed from your post of Minister to the Crown until such time as investigation is complete concerning charges brought by Her Majesty's solicitors against you for corruption, fraud, selling pardons for money, and treason. You are under arrest." Gesturing to those around her, she said, "Take him."

The bellowing of an enraged minister was audible, but not decipherable. By the time the anti-apparation manacles were locked on him, his face had turned as purple as one of Vernon Dursley's towering rages.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," continued Madame Bones. "By order of the Queen of England, you are removed from your post of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot until such time as investigation is complete concerning charges brought by Her Majesty's solicitors against you for subversion, sedition, fraud, conspiracy to establish a shadow government, conspiracy to commit abuse of a minor, attempted assault on a monarch, interfering with the succession of an Heir, attempted disruption of a Family line, interfering with free elections, and petty treason under the Treason act of 1351. You are under arrest." Looking up with almost no inflection at all, she said, "Take him."

Dumbledore wasted no time, and immediately tried to escape - to no avail. The old wizard wasn't strong enough to apparate within Hogwarts, and Harry had negated his portkey.

As his shocked face regarded Harry, Madame Bones continued. "You are also named as defendant in two civil suits for 'grievous harm' by the head of House Potter and House Black."

"After the criminal charges and lawsuits," Harry said, "your family will be destitute, and you will be a pariah. You really should not have tried to Obliviate the queen." He could see the shock deepen on the shamed man's face. "Especially since I was behind the tapestry at the time." Harry turned his back on his former mentor, no longer interested.


	24. Chapter 24  Some secret shame

Chapter 24 - Some secret shame

Ron's life was not turning out the way he had thought it would. Not only that, but many of his most closely-held beliefs were turning out to be spectacularly wrong.

For instance, he had no choice but to face up to the plain and simple fact that he just wasn't that good at Quidditch. Oh, he was mighty fine at making big boasts about how Chudley were going to win it all this season. But, not to put too fine a point on it, he wasn't much up to scratch as a keeper without a captain yelling to tell him what to do, and when to do it.

With Harry skipping out on Quidditch this year, no one was interested in helping Ron be a better player. In fact, his oafish chatter and hollow grin didn't seem nearly as engaging to his teammates as it had when he was part of the threesome.

And there it was. He was no longer part of the 'Golden Trio', as it had once been called. He had been most angry of all when Harry had returned; then had been most embarrassed when it was explained to him and the Gryffs just how much of a prat he was being. The only reason he hadn't just dried up and disappeared was that the whole room had been getting dressed down, not just him.

He sat at the far end of the table, with the students in their seventh year but not really a part of them, and watched. Harry Potter was certainly a lightning rod for more kinds of interesting happenings than could be imagined. In one morning - indeed, in less than an hour - he had defeated and humiliated Snape, deposed Dumbledore for a second time, and... he'd had the Supreme Mugwump and the Minister of the Crown arrested and led off in manacles. Now he watched Harry return to the Gryffindor table to resume his breakfast, as if the pandemonium was the sign of just another day.

It finally occurred to Ron. It finally percolated in. It was he, Ron Weasley, that was behaving like an utter berk. Harry had told them all what it would take to be his friend, months ago when he'd returned, and Ron had stayed away, fuming. But he now felt he had to do something. Something to make things right.

When the noise slowly returned to the level of the normal breakfast murmur in the Great Hall, there was a lone figure standing a respectful distance off from Harry and his women, waiting to speak.

"Good morning, Ron," he said.

"Er... erm... hi, Harry." The young man with the ruddy complexion was obviously anxious about something. "Umm... could we... I mean, do you have a moment?"

"Sure, Ron. Maybe you'd like to go for a little walk?"

"Um... well, if it's okay with you two," he said, looking at Luna and Hermione.

Hermione closed the book she was thumbing through and stood, Luna standing at the same time. "We'll catch up with you later, Harry," Hermione said. They both stood on tip-toe to plant a chaste kiss on either cheek before walking away. Ron looked in wonder at the pair, shaking his head - not in disapproval, but in amazement.

Harry grabbed his staff and hobbled toward the entrance to the Great Hall. They were not followed.

"Harry..." Ron began.

"Go ahead, Ron," said Harry. _He's struggling,_ he thought, _but he's sixteen years old - old enough to figure out what's on his own mind._

"Harry, what's wrong with your leg?"

"The Dursleys are what's wrong. The hints and threats at King's Cross station at the end of last school year were too little, too late. Maybe I'll have it fixed properly when I'm done with what I have to do."

"What do you have to do?" asked the redhead.

Harry recited the prophesy for him, his voice flat. He was tired of being outraged at that little bit of doggerel, and so felt no desire to inflect.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, looking down. "I don't know if I could handle that..." he trailed off for a moment, then came back to his point. "Harry, I have three things I need to clear up between us." He looked at Harry for a reaction, but there was none.

"I'm sorry I jumped all over you when you came back to school in November. I should have found out what was going on."

"Accepted," said Harry.

"I'm sorry that I've been jealous of you all these years. I've seen you take on Snape, and Dumbledore, and the Minister, all during breakfast. And you've fought You..." he looked sheepish. "You've had to fight You-Know-Who, and now you have to kill him. Anyway, you can keep your money and fame, if that's what comes with it."

"Accepted," said Harry.

"Well... and... I mean..." Ron stammered for a bit longer. "Harry, would it be alright if... aw, hell. Would it be alright if Luna took my place in the golden trio? I mean, don't get me wrong, I still like... I still support you, but I can't do any more of those adventures. Ever since that thing with the brains..."

Harry looked, and saw a tear escape and run down Ron's cheek. Just the thought of going on another 'adventure' like that one was too much the young redhead. He had spent most of his summer getting multiple painful treatments and potions just to get the nightmares under control again.

Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder, saying, "Right you are, then, mate. After all, you need time to work on your own love life, eh? I've seen some of those girls panting after you, the red-headed Quidditch star."

Ron snorted to cover a sob. Harry could see, by examining his friend's aura, that Ron was terrified. Of everything. He was afraid of danger with Harry, afraid of Harry, afraid of falling in Quidditch, afraid of failing... His run-in with the tentacled brain-creatures at the DoM had caused much damage. The physical damage had been healed, but any courage that the young Gryffindor may once have had was exorcised.

"Ron, I know Luna and Hermione would be proud of you right now. And don't worry. I still consider you my friend, and I will still look out for your family."

"Yeah..." began Ron. "That reminds me. Mum wrote me and told me what you did with those... hic Death Eaters at the Burrow. I appreciate you saving them, Harry, I really do... and she wants to know when you're going to get that stone statue thing away from her front gate." This last came with a trademark Weasley grin.

/\

_Friday, March 7th, 1997_

Time moved forward at Hogwarts, as it usually does everywhere. Those students who were known to ascribe to the tenets of Voldemort and his racist cronies did not just dry up and blow away - as many wished they would - but were considerably less public in their bigotry.

Anyone watching the more rabid Dark followers would have seen shifty eyes, hushed conversations that stopped when seen, and looks of hatred directed towards those who didn't want to play along. In other words, they behaved completely as normal.

The down side of having the "Children of the Dork" act so maddeningly normal was that there was no way to tell if they were plotting something horrid, or just wishing they had the courage to plot something horrid. This made their doings very hard to predict.

The further sad side of having terrorists around was that there was no way to be like a Boy Scout and "be prepared". There were simply too many things that could be attacked, and too many ways those attacks could come. Not because they were a magical community - muggles faced the same problems with terrorists - but because it is absolutely impossible to predict every single way some jackass with an agenda could throw a wrench into the works.

Which was why Harry was disappointed, but not really all that surprised, when he heard the voice of McGonagall in his head that morning, calling him in the way that he had given her.

"_Harry, I need you,_" she said. Harry had just finished his first cup of morning tea, and was looking forward to a nice, quiet breakfast with friends in the Great Hall.

"_Be right there,_" he replied _sotto voce_. To Hermione and Luna he said, "Professor McGonagall needs me for something. Go ahead and eat, I'll be back when I can." He topped up his teacup, transfigured it into a muggle thermal mug, and stumped away, thumping his cane as he walked.

As soon as he was out of sight of the hall, not wanting to upset anyone, he transported himself magically to the outside of McGonagall's office. He knocked on the door and waited for the "Enter" that was McGonagall's trademark greeting. Instead, the door was pulled open before him and he was presented with her distressed face.

"Tell me," he said simply.

"Azkaban was attacked just before dawn this morning. There is no one there left alive." She seemed to be rushing to get it all out. "All the Death Eaters are gone, with a few others. The rest are... are dead. The Dementors are all gone. I'm worried, Harry, that there will be an attack on the school, or the children of the Death Eaters will do something..." she could go no further. Her hands were wringing so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Harry took her shoulders to pull her in for an embrace. She didn't return it, but didn't resist either. "I could use your advice, Harry. I honestly don't know what to do. Albus may not have dealt with you... honestly, but he always... seemed to project the air of someone who knew what to do... I guess I relied upon that more than I realized... more than I should have..."

Harry hugged her tightly, and spoke into her ear. "You can do this, Professor. You don't have to solve everything; you just have to look like you will. I want you to take your meal in the Great Hall, to let the students see you. The Ministry must've quashed the news internally this morning, to keep it out of the papers, because no word of it was announced. Just sit at your head table, look at them sternly once in a while, and let the students draw strength from your appearance. Okay?"

"But Harry," she said, "if the attack comes, what shall we do? We don't have an army here."

"You most certainly _do_ have an army, young lady!" They both grinned at that; Harry knew that older ladies got a giggle out of being called 'young lady'. "You have a whole crack brigade of over two hundred students who have been trained and honed to a fine edge by The Boy Who Lived! And Luna can lock down the castle." He flourished his staff like a longsword and shouted, "Avast, ye Death Eater swabs! Prepare to be thwarted! Ar-har!" He lowered his staff and his mien, so that he now stood as solemnly as before. "Any questions?"

Professor McGonagall smiled in spite of herself, and said, "Cheeky monkey. Very well, I'll get to the hall. What are you going to do?"

"Simple, really," replied Harry. "I'll just go and get them. Be back soon." He blew her a kiss and disappeared.

A/N: I have been pestered by people who think they've found an inconsistency, and who think the Ministry can't keep stories quiet anymore because Harry owns the Prophet. For those who haven't figured it out yet: every government in the world has the ability - and responsibility - to keep some things out of the news. There are laws to that effect. Britain has laws that exert more control than the U.S., for example. Why would you think Harry wouldn't comply with those laws? There's a huge difference between buying the paper to stop libel and buying the paper to break the law.

A/N: I have been pestered to frustration about people thinking the Ministry can't keep stories quiet anymore because Harry owns the Prophet. For those who can't seem to get it: every government in the world has the ability - and responsibility - to keep some things out of the news. There are laws to that effect. Why would you think Harry wouldn't comply with the law? There's a _huge_ difference between buying the paper to stop libel and buying the paper to overthrow the government.


	25. Chapter 25  Or close the wall up

A/N: Thanks to all you readers and reviewers.

/\

Chapter 25 - Or close the wall up with our English dead!

Harry stood in a clearing in the Forbidden Forest. He needed a lot of room to do what he was about to do, and didn't want an audience. To any muggle observer, it would have appeared that Harry just stood in the center of the clearing, head hung low, stopping for a break on a weary trek. The magical beings in the forest, however, skittered nervously as a large concentration of magical energy collected around him.

Scrying, for those trained in its use, was a complicated affair; using a great deal of a wizard's energy for each scry, and requiring a substantial amount of rest and recuperation afterward. Professional scryers usually refused to perform more than one scry per week; preferring to allow their magical reserves to replenish completely before recommencing the very draining process for the next scry.

Harry's scrying, however, was a quite different affair. He hadn't trained using the Ministry's officially sanctioned training methods, so it wasn't nearly as complicated. He also used his will to manipulate the magic around him instead of draining his own reserves of magic, so he wasn't limited to one a week. It was still a tremendous expenditure of magical energy; just not from within _him_. Harry wasn't concerned about performing more than one scry at a time, for two reasons: first that he had a better understanding of the way his mind could manipulate the forces around him than perhaps anyone else alive at the moment, and second, nobody had taught him it couldn't be done.

So he simply stood in his clearing, magic coalescing around him. One could make analogies like a great undischarged store of static electricity, or a whirlwind, or a concentration of light, but it was none of these things. It was magic, and only those who could see magic would know how to describe it. Anyone else would just feel power and sense... _something_... but wouldn't be able to explain.

The vegetation around the clearing where he stood, deep within the Forbidden Forest, was greatly agitated by the byplay of energies during this. Dry, dying grasses were made green once more. One tree not only seemed to repair itself, but it could also be seen to have grown a full two additional feet.

When Harry's manipulation of energies was complete, his scrying was also complete. In his mind's eye, held fast within a corresponding mental map, were fixated pinpoints of... well, not so much light, as much as just existence. He beheld within his mind one hundred seventeen specific locations and identities. He knew exactly where to find every Death Eater who had escaped.

_Now_, he thought to himself. _Whatever shall I do with you all?_

/\

Junior Auror Belinda Raquel Gilderdale stood security duty in the Ministry Atrium alone. Short and severe, her long hair tied tightly, she was trying very hard to look older than her 31 years. Most of the people who found out she was an auror thought she was much too young for such responsibility; to the point where she was constantly trying to make up for that.

Belinda wasn't supposed to be on duty alone. Her assigned partner and leader, Damian Danford, was assigned to stand at the other side of the open space as her counterpart. He had signaled his need to attend to the call of Mother Nature, and she had nodded as he'd stepped away. That had been nearly twenty minutes earlier; much longer than a quick toilet break should have taken.

Such thoughts were driven from her head quite readily, however, at 9:37 am Belinda heard a sort of squelching sound behind the barrier curtain that obscured the plinth where the old statue depicting the supposed harmony between wizards, goblins and elves had been before the break-in at the Department of Mysteries, nearly a year before.

To her, it sounded as if someone had dropped a bag of sopping wet laundry on the floor.

Surreptitiously, she appraised the rest of the area, to see if anything untoward was afoot. Seeing that there didn't appear to be any notice among the other passers-by, she at first wrote it off to her imagination. Sighting across the atrium, she noticed Danford returning to his place. _Finally_, she thought. _He's supposed to be showing me the ropes, and I end up his bleeding baby-minder_. Then she heard it again.

A squidgy sort of impact. Rather heavy, not at all a nice sound. She saw at once that Danford had heard it as well, when he turned back to look at her quizzically. Crooking a finger to beckon her over, he met her in the middle of the large floor, just outside the curtain to the destroyed fountain. "Any idea, Bel?"

Shaking her head in exasperation, she reached to pull aside the veil just in time to witness the next occurrence of that rather disquieting sound. It was the sound of a crushed human body, wearing Death Eater garb, landing on the stone plinth - quite hard. The previous two bodies, dressed the same, were slowly... hardening. That was the only word she could think of; the forms of the corpses weren't changing; just the material from which they seemed to be composed. Instead of flesh, they were changing to stone. Even as she watched, three more corpses appeared at the high ceiling in rapid succession, falling to pulp themselves against the stone, before becoming stone themselves.

Over the next two hours, the grisly rain of ossifying corpses continued until, just before noon, it stopped. By then, there was a significantly-sized group of aurors including Madame Bones. It looked to be over a hundred dead bodies; some in Death Eater masks and robes, some not - but all arrayed artfully to show they each bore the Dark Mark, somewhere on a body part.

When the last corpse turned to stone, the plinth glowed brightly for a moment, only to reveal a new inscription:

DEATH EATERS?  
>SO BE IT<br>LET THEM EAT DEATH

The Ministry had a new statue monument for their atrium.

/\

Back at Hogwarts, the preponderance of the student body and faculty were beginning to make their way toward the Great Hall. Most of them failed to make it that far. They were flummoxed; confronted by a quite grisly sight.

Harry Potter sat on a comfy chair, in more or less the center of the large entrance hall before the Great Hall. Strange though that may have been in itself, the attention he garnered was not due to his nonchalant recumbence, but rather the blood and bits of viscera with which his raiment was festooned. He looked like he'd been through a charnel house.

Just as strange - perhaps even more so - was the suspended person of Lucius Malfoy, floating about 8 feet from the stone floor, apparently in some kind of stasis.

Word of the little tableau spread quickly through the school, as such news often does. The few straggling students in the hall didn't take long to grow into a significant crowd. The crowd was loath to press too close to Harry, seeing him covered in blood and gore, but he didn't mind. Hermione and Luna sat upon the arms of his comfortable chair. Hermione was wiping his face with a damp cloth, while Luna was performing the same service for his hands. Before long, they all beheld the curious sight of Harry's clean face, crowned by his unruly hair with bits of... things... in it.

_Minerva_, said Harry using his mind-speech. _Would you mind coming out to the entrance hall for a moment?_ He sent her an image to let her know what was going on. Before too many seconds, she stepped out from the Great Hall, beholding the gathered crowd with equanimity.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

Harry stood, to show respect. "Professor, there is something the whole school should really see, but I don't want to make a mess. Could we all step outside the front door for a bit?" He smiled, despite his blood-speckled appearance. "I promise it won't take long."

Knowing it wouldn't matter one whit if she objected, she simply nodded.

"Follow me, everyone," Harry announced. His armchair vanished behind him as he walked toward the front doors to the castle, Malfoy floating before him. The crowd knew they were in for a show; they just didn't know what form it would take, as they followed him out to the front courtyard.

Hermione and Luna left Harry's side to back away, to the edge of the crowd that had formed in a circle around him. Lucius Malfoy's floating self moved to stand opposite Harry, roughly ten feet away.

Harry spoke just loudly enough to be heard, forcing everyone to listen. "This morning, there was a breakout in Azkaban Prison. One hundred eighteen people escaped with the help of Voldemort's little helpers." He paused while the expected murmur ran its course. "Some of you may recognize Mr. Malfoy here," he continued. "Mr. Malfoy was one of the ones who escaped. What you may not know, however, is that Mr. Malfoy tried to kill me and some of my friends last year."

Harry had to pause again; some of the school knew this, all right, because their parents were Death Eaters. Some of them had even discussed it among themselves, wanting to have been involved.

"You almost certainly do not know where I found him. He was standing in the front gateyard at the headquarters of The Quibbler." Luna inhaled sharply, behind him. "He was leading a group to destroy the paper and kill the owner. This piece of sewage hadn't been out of prison more than a few hours before jumping right back into his favorite Death Eater activities."

Harry began to speak louder. "Professor McGonagall, I would like to call upon you as witness, if I may?" McGonagall nodded, her hands folded before her. "Lucius Malfoy, you have grievously wronged the House of Potter by the attempted kidnapping, torture and murder of those under my protection. Under the articles of Canly, I challenge you to a Wizard's End duel. You may have thirty seconds to prepare." Waving, he released the elder Malfoy.

Shaking himself, Lucius declared, "I don't need time to prepare, cur!. _Avad-_"

That was as far as he got, as he rapidly became occupied with more important things - to wit, screaming. Harry leaned on his stick and motioned with his free hand, gesturing to raise Malfoy into the air once more. The rich Death Eater's body was being squeezed and twisted like taffy, until the sounds of breaking bones could clearly be heard. Many breaking bones. Then there was fire; burning with more screaming in mid-air, until the hideous screaming finally stopped, and nothing but powdered ash swirled where a very evil man had once been.

Most of the school was there, and had witnessed the gruesome spectacle, utterly silent. Then someone unseen was heard to vomit. No one looked to see who it was. Their attention was total.

Harry spoke, very calm but also very loud. "Attack my friends, and die. Horribly." No one said a word. He continued, "I can see the dark mark on some of you. I know who you are, and I know where your mark is.

"Today is Friday; I am calling the aurors at sundown tomorrow to give them names. Anyone wearing the dark mark after sundown at Hogwarts tomorrow will be taken to Azkaban. You may have tonight and tomorrow to arrange for transportation."

Some of them looked like they wanted to attack - but they had just seen what happened to Malfoy. Muttering, they stormed off.

Harry looked around the assembled crowd, seeing a scattered few looks of acceptance, but most of them were outraged. "Listen carefully, my friends," he said. "Have you not learned anything in the brigade? Voldemort and his little band of shit-heads are terrorists. They will attack your homes, your babies, your parents, and they will not stop until either all of you are dead, or all of them are dead.

"There is no negotiating with insanity. They will not listen, they will not bargain. They will attack, because if they don't, their dork lord will kill them. Stupefy just isn't going to cut it. They'll revive each other, and keep coming, and keep recruiting, and keep coming, and keep killing your families, and keep coming, until we stop them. The ministry doesn't care. Your headmaster didn't care. Do you? That's the only question that matters. Do you care whether you live or die?"


	26. Chapter 26  Stiffen the sinews

Chapter 26 - Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood

Harry let it be known that he had plans to handle an invasion at the school. He realized that there was no way he could count on many to actually help him fight. He saw that people believed in concept that they could be invaded, but he could also see that they didn't really grasp the very real possibility of their own deaths. They'd been raised as sheep for too many generations, told that they should never fight, never defend themselves, always rely on the intervention of authority figures, always call the cops.

He also knew that Voldemort would not wait until 8am on April 1st, the time and date of the challenge. Not only would the Dark Lord not have the aid of the one hundred eighteen (including Malfoy) dead death eaters, but now he was in serious jeopardy of losing his remaining followers. Harry Potter had challenged him, and then attacked him. The death eaters would be looking to see if their lord was indeed worth following.

That Saturday he had, with the help of Luna's Hogwarts aspect, verified that all the little death nibblers had departed. There had been no need to call the aurors after all. Even the most stubborn of them knew about the confrontations with the two Malfoys, and the squibbing of Pansy Parkinson

Over the next few days after his duel with Malfoy, Harry worked with the acting Headmistress. She took very seriously being charged with the safety and well-being of all students at Hogwarts, and she cared about the faculty as well. He had to make sure that she was confident that none of her students would be harmed, and that took a great deal of convincing. He even took her to a quiet room to demonstrate some of what he was going to do.

In the end, it was his quiet confidence, coupled with a demonstration of nearly-incalculable power, that won her over. When he revealed part of what he had planned, even the hardened older woman had to admit that it had a great possibility of working. But faith alone was not enough to satisfy her; she spent quite a bit of time with him hammering out an approach that was more than belt-and-suspenders. It was more like belt-and-suspenders-and-spare-belt-and-staples-and-rivets-and-safety-pins.

School days and classes marched on... though if anyone had thought to stop a student in their hurried transit to and fro, few of those students would have been able to report what had transpired in the class they'd just departed. They were going through the motions, but everyone in and around the castle knew just exactly what was important, what was coming, and what it meant.

Harry had no illusions either, concerning Riddle. The wiley trickster was insanely powerful, and just plain insane. He also had the advantage of his own private army. Some served because they believed Voldemort's raving about blood supremacy, some because of fear, and some because they got their rocks off hurting people.

The Boy-Who-Lived also had no illusions about the Dork Lord waiting until 8am on April 1st.

/\

_Wednesday, March 26th, 1997_

"Harry?" asked Luna.

"Hmmm?"

"Harry, why have you been staying nights in the castle? I mean, we know you don't really like to stay here."

Harry sat up at that. He, Luna and Hermione were in the Room of Requirement, where the two girls could do their prep without being disturbed. He answered, "Why would you say such a thing? I love Hogwarts, and she loves me!"

"Harryyyyy..." said Luna with a pout that made Hermione try to stifle a grin.

"I have always loved this castle," he said. "Ever since I found out it was here, and what it was all about. It's just that some of the people who have lived here at the time have made life rather... stressful."

Hermione broke in, "Well, you've fixed that already. You already got rid of most of the 'stressful' people who were here. Is that why you're here every night now?"

"No, ladies. I'm here every night because I know Riddle is going to attack soon. I'm no seer, but I have a feeling he won't wait until April Fools' Day. He has hidden himself from my scrying somehow, so I can't see where he is directly. But I have a feeling he's close," he concluded, tapping his scar with a forefinger. "Closer all the time."

"You know, Harry," Hermione said, "Just a few months ago and your friends would all have been screaming at you for being crazy enough to try to prevent us from helping you. At least you should let the aurors know what you're planning, even if you won't tell us."

"Yes, yes, we've all heard the sermon on how important it is to tell the teacher when there's a bully. That's what got us into this mess in the first place."

Hermione flushed and lowered her eyes as Luna looked on, her normal dreamy expression firmly in place. "Harry, I know I was wrong to trust Dumbledore, but you have to admit I had your best interests at heart."

"No I don't," Harry retorted. "You didn't do what you did because of something I needed; you did it because of something _you_ thought I _should_ need. That's not the same, and you will have to learn that. Stubborn or not." He let a corner of his mouth rise in a slight grin, to try to take some of the sting out of his words.

"Just because you proved that one man was hurting you doesn't mean that all of them are. There are people around you who genuinely care for your well-being. Like Luna and me, for example."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, when you went to Muggle elementary school, what did they teach you to do if you ever got lost?"

"Find a policeman, of course! Look for the uniform, find a policeman, and he would help you get home." Hermione looked proud that she had remembered her early schooling.

"Exactly. Now, when is the last time you saw a policeman in uniform walking a beat? No, don't talk, listen," he said when she started to argue. "There are two general kinds of person who become policemen, or aurors. One group is made up of starry-eyed young people who see opportunities, and want to change the world into a better place. Another group is made up of those who want an easy government job, and like to be able to bully and boss people around, ignore red lights, and steal an apple whenever they like.

"After the young idealists are on the force for a few years, they find out that they cannot change the world after all. So they become embittered and hardened to suffering, or leave the force. So who does that leave waking the beat? The bully. The bully is not your friend."

Hermione was incensed. "Harry, how could you become so cynical-" She stopped that line of thought when she saw Harry raise his hair to show the scar. "Yes, well... But that can't be the way the world works!"

"Are you just going to continuously gainsay what I have said, or try to refute it? Use your mind first. Then tell me which thing I have said is false, and why." Not letting her off the hook, he looked directly into her red face as she sputtered.

"But... well... Har... Harry, is that how you see the world?" She looked ready to cry, and probably was.

Smacking his hand on the table with a loud 'crack!', he said, "Think, Hermione! Don't recite, don't spout platitudes, and don't regurgitate what you've been spoon-fed." That got her attention, and she was getting angry for being spoken to sharply. "No, I didn't say get mad, I said think. Evaluate the information you have, and arrive at a conclusion of your own!"

Freddie's voice came from Luna's placid face. "Hermione, this is a critical point in your life - perhaps one of the most critical. You have learned more about Harry than anyone alive except Harry himself. You have seen his scars. You have seen his treatment, his torment. What event or element in his entire life could possibly have suggested to him that any authority figure - teacher, adult, preacher, government, auror, _any_ - would be someone to turn to?"

Hermione was openly weeping now. "Oh, Harry, how could you just hate everybody so much?"

"Did I kiss you today?"

"Yes, but-"

"Did I kiss Luna today?"

"Yes, but-"

"Do I kiss people I hate?"

"Huh, no."

"Then, do I hate you?"

"No."

"Then, do I hate everybody?"

"That's not what I meant at all, Harry Potter!" Hermione was quite indignant.

"Isn't it? Are you a parrot?" he asked, getting little louder.

"There's no need to be insulting!"

"Answer the question, please."

"No!"

"Then stop. Parrots recite. Children react emotionally. True intellect shows through original thought. You are reported to have one of the finest minds in the building, and you continuously cram information into your head, and you know what it's for." His voice was calm once more, seeing that he had successfully made his point. "Now bring it with you, and turn it on."

Luna said, "The world isn't what we want it to be, or what we wish it could be, or what we pretend it is. It is what it is." It was, perhaps, the saddest thing anyone had ever heard Luna say. That, as much as anything else, drove home what Harry was trying to teach the young Gryffindor.

"So, are you saying I should give up all my ideals?" sniffed Hermione.

"No, love. I hope you never lose your ideals of what life and the world can become. I just want you to see that the starting point for changing the world isn't where you thought it was."

The three gave up all pretense of studying, and just held each other for a while.


	27. Chapter 27  Disguise fair nature

Chapter 27 - Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage

_Friday, March 28th, 1997  
>4:15am<em>

Harry awakened as soon as Luna touched his shoulder. "It's time, Harry," came Freddie's voice. "The alarms are all sounding, but I thought you'd rather hear it from me."

Voldemort, as expected, was attacking - trying to pull a fast one and catch somebody by surprise. "Very well," he said, quite calm, as he stood. Looking down briefly, he wandlessly transfigured his robes into his "cloak and staff" disguise. "Freddie, are any students out of their dorms?"

"No, Harry; I have locked all common room doors. The students are safe, and the alarms are not sounding inside the student quarters."

"Do you need my help returning to Ravenclaw tower?"

"I think I can manage," came the sardonic reply of a thousand-year-old castle speaking from the mouth of a 15-year-old girl. She left the Room of Requirement.

"Hermione, let me," he said. She was busy zooming around the room, trying desperately to collect all her books study materials. He waved and all of it stacked neatly into her book bag. He took her arm and... they were standing in the Gryffindor common room. He kissed her briefly but fiercely, and disappeared.

/\

"Oh, there you are, Harry," said Professor McGonagall as he appeared in the midst of the gathering of staff in the entrance hall to the castle. "I was going to send a student to find you, but..."

"But all the students are in bed."

"Quite. We're all ready."

Harry looked at the half-asleep group of teachers and staff. Even Filch and Hagrid were there, both armed with pitchforks. "Try not to worry, my friends," he said, knowing it to be a futile request. "It'll all be over in a little while, and then I hope we'll have a nice big breakfast."

There was some half-hearted laughter from the ragtag group. Even though they had seen some of what Harry could do, they were still quite frightened. "Would you all wait in the Great Hall?" he asked. "There's no sense in chasing them all over the lawn, and at least we can be warm in there." He raised an arm to indicate the doors to the Hall.

When he saw them all safely in the Great Hall, Harry set a ward to keep them safely therein. It would be easier to protect them all if they all stayed in the same place. He Disillusioned himself, and triggered several spells he'd prepared earlier. His mouth set in a grim line, he waited.

/\

"Mulciber!"

"Yes, my lord?" came the answer.

"How are we coming with the gate?"

"The gate is open, my lord. You may enter whenever you wish."

Voldemort barely controlled a start of surprise. The gate was open? He walked up to it and waved his wand in some complicated patterns. No, there were no spells. No wards, nothing at all to keep him and his army out. "Well done, Mulciber."

"Thank you, my lord." Mulciber hadn't anything to do with opening the gate; it had been found that way. But he'd been a follower of the Dark Lord long enough to know never to correct the man.

The mob started walking the slow walk up the path toward the school. Even Voldemort wasn't powerful enough to just Apparate on Hogwarts' grounds. Everyone knew that. It took about twenty minutes for the large group to get within eyesight of the front of the castle.

Voldemort stopped in his tracks, wondering at what appeared before him. The castle was dark. Not a single light showed anywhere within view. Not only that, but the massive front door was standing ajar. Rather than being bolted with the massive bars that protected the even-more-massive door, it stood ajar. Not wide open as if in welcome, but crookedly half-open as if in abandonment. The gate had been found open, there were no lights, and the door was open.

Riddle scratched his chin with the tip of his wand, thinking, before he cast a chain of spells. Every revelation spell known to him - and that was quite a lot of spells - showed the castle to be completely empty. First, Hogsmeade had been found deserted. No one to fight. Now, the castle was empty. He could see dead leaves on the floor, disturbed in the cold zephyr that blew in the door.

Could it be? Yes... they had run away! Instead of having his "last stand" battle, they had all just given up and buggered off!

A smile broke out on the snake-like face of Voldemort. It was not a pleasant smile, and did not bring any warmth to those nearby. "Hogwarts is fallen. It is mine, Mulciber."

"I think you're right, my lord."

"You think? I doubt it." Raising his voice, he shouted, "Our day is at hand! You may pillage the castle. Forward!"

A gigantic "hurrah!" was heard by all as a very large crowd of black-robed Death Eaters surged forward and pressed through the doors, flinging them wide and running in. Some hoped to find a person to hurt, some hoped for valuables... but none wanted to stay behind and hang about with their lord.

Standing for a few moments on the front lawn of Hogwarts Castle, drinking in the joyous feeling of total victory, Voldemort was one of the last to enter the castle...

Only to find no one.

Not a single Death Eater was within view. Not only that, but the few of his minions who had followed behind him to enter were also not there.

And the lights were on. The entire entrance hall was brightly lit, as if expecting visitors. "Dumbledore," he began grumbling. "Dumbledore, you pathetic old man, if this is one of your-"

"In here, Tom," came a call from the Great Hall, whose doors were also open.

"Potter? No, it can't be..." he walked quickly through the double doors to find a very strange site indeed. "Potter! Enough of these parlor tricks! Where's Dumbledore?"

The Great Hall stood quiet. All tables and benches had been removed, as had the dais. The enchanted ceiling and floating candles lit the hall very well, and revealed Harry Potter to be standing in the center of the room. Alone. Leaning on a staff of some kind, Potter was sipping from a cup of something hot with his other hand.

In each common room in Hogwarts, a three-dimensional projection of sight and sound was playing the meeting to all who wished to watch. The teachers, locked in the anteroom off the Hall, had a display much like it. They could watch the entire affair, without being seen.

Thinking this to be the perfect time, Voldemort smiled, drew himself up and cast, "Crucio!" Nothing happened. He did it again, and again the unforgivable had no effect. He gave up on that and started a string of other spells, then casting at the walls, the floor... to no avail.

Harry said, simply, "No."

"Where are my Death Eaters, Potter?" spat the old snake.

"Dead."

"Don't vex me, whelp!"

"Why, you gonna cry? Or go tell your mommy?" Harry started talking baby-talk. "You gonna stomp your widdle snakey-man foot and pout? They're all dead. I killed them. Just me. Nobody else. I killed ALL of them."

Voldemort didn't believe it. He started shouting and casting again against Harry, and the floor, and the candles. Nothing happened, and he started screaming and throwing his tantrum before trying his portkey.

It didn't work. He tried another portkey, and it didn't work either. Tried apparating, and that didn't work. As far as the room was concerned, he had no magic.

Harry was walking towards him, slowly. Not even holding a wand. "No escape for you today, chicken shit. You're not going to run away from me this time, like you did so many times before. The little baby that kicked your pimply arse is here to finish the job."

Now Harry was about three feet away. Voldemort kept trying his wand, over and over. Harry didn't need a wand - to do anything. Closing a fist, he thumped Riddle in the chest, knocking him down. Voldemort scampered back, backing away and got back up, so Harry could just knock him down again. "What is this?" he said. He was getting scared now. "What trickery is this? What magic is this? Answer me!"

Harry continued to walk after him, speaking. "I made Pansy a squib by insulating her from all magic, removing its influence. Like this." He removed a little magic from Voldemort, who screamed. Because the Dark Lord's newest body was made entirely from the results of magic, his body wasn't working right, and it hurt.

Harry grabbed him by the robes, picked him up with one hand and slapped him, open hand. "Coward. Fight! Cry-baby. Spoiled rotten little cry-baby. Waaaaaaaaaaa." Punch, breaking bones. "If I can't be in charge, I'm gonna take my whistle and go home." Punch, crunch. Voldemort was screaming, his body weakening even further.

"I'll be back, Potter! You think you've won? I'll be back!"

Harry said, "No, you won't," and waved his free hand. The horcruxes fell to the floor, broken and charred, obviously destroyed. "your little soul pieces have been destroyed. There is nothing left to keep you alive. When I kill you, there will be no part of you left to go anywhere." Punch. "No killing unicorns." punch. "No living under somebody else's hat." Punch.

"I thought for a while about keeping this last little bit of your soul in a snow-globe." Punch. "Imprison the last of your essence into a device from the muggles that you hate so much." Punch. "But I realized that wouldn't end anything. And it's time to end." Punch. "Right, Tommy?" Harry dropped Voldemort to the floor, where he lay breathing through his broken mouth.

Voldemort began to beg. "Please, Harry, please, we can rule together, everyone is afraid of both of us now, nobody will ever stand in our way, you can be my right hand man..."

Harry said, "I can already do any of that I wish. What do I need you for?"

Harry raised his staff and drove it through the eye of the most recent Dark Lord, nailing his head to the floor.

Slowly turning, he conjured himself a new staff, just like the old one. Leaning on it, he released the wards keeping everyone locked up in rooms.

/\

"How did you know the attack was coming, Harry?"

"How did you block everyone from getting close?"

"What happened to all those Death Eaters?"

That last was the only question he decided to answer. "I made a portal on the door. They were all sent to Clo Mor."

"You don't mean..." began Professor McGonagall, before stopping herself. Being a Scot, she was the only one present who recognized the name.

"Yes, Professor. Each of them was sent to Clo Mor, the highest cliffs on the United Kingdom mainland. More precisely, I sent them about fifty feet out from the top of the cliff, several hundred feet in the air. Without their wands." He poited to a wooden box by the door, which was overflowing with wands.

"Professor? Would you call the aurors? I need to rest for a bit." He sat down right where he was, conjuring a comfy chair to catch himself in at the last minute. He looked absolutely exhausted; mainly because he was.

Hermione and Luna sat on the arms of his chair, holding him and stroking his hair while they waited for the next show to begin.

/\

Lots of aurors came. The temporary minister came. Several reporters came. Auror Shacklebolt's very dark complexion was quite gray when he stepped up to Harry. Speaking calmly, he said, "We found the bodies of the Death Eaters. There was quite a mess."

"How many?" asked Harry.

"One thousand, eight hundred forty-one," answered the senior auror, before he fainted dead away on the floor. Harry just nodded, as if he'd expected that too.

The reporters found themselves unable to approach Harry at all. They couldn't even point their cameras in his direction; some compelling force pushed them violently away when they tried. So they had to make do with taking extra pictures of the corpse of the lastest Dark Lord. The so-called "He who must not be named", old "You know who".

"Harry, mate?"

Harry looked around to discover Neville at his elbow. "Yes, Neville?"

"Harry, congratulations on the whole killing snakey-doodle over there, but... well, could you let us move him? We have to eat in here." Neville had a goofy grin on his face.

Harry grinned, then chuckled ever-so-lightly. "Alright, Nev. Let's put this dead dick-face where he can finally do some good, eh?" He waved his hand and the corpse disappeared, along with the staff with which it had been affixed. "There, that should be a good place for it."

"Harry," Hermione began to scold. "Where did you put Voldemort's body?"

"I turned it into stone, and made it the new frontispiece for a sculpture I've been working on. It's right in front of the pile of dead Death Eaters in the atrium at the Ministry."

Finis

/\

A/N: Yes, friends; this is the end of this story. I could have done another chapter for epilogue, but I think it stops here just fine. It's unlikely that there will be a sequel, but I had a great deal of fun writing this. Thank you all for riding along.


End file.
